


Prevail

by tragicallyidiotic



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Saw (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Dissociation, Drowning, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, I really hate Aria, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Most of the traps aren't original if that's what you were looking for, Needles, Not a Crossover, POV Alternating, Physical Abuse, Please stay safe, Recovery, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Slow burn so slow you forget it's a ship fic, Starvation, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, They get better, Think of anything bad that can happen and expect it, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Verbal Abuse, you would not believe how much of this is Alana pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2019-10-29 05:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 102,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tragicallyidiotic/pseuds/tragicallyidiotic
Summary: "How'd you lose your arm, Evan?"He thought it was over, that he'd be free from the games after he'd sacrificed his own arm in exchange for living another day.But losing his arm doesn't fix his mind. If anything, it only makes his life more miserable. He allows himself to spiral again.Evan Hansen wakes up in a room full of panicking people, a timer on the wall and a tape with instructions.Not only that, but his fake, supposedly dead best friend is there too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things to note before reading:  
> Connor's "suicide" takes place during Junior year rather than Senior year for the sake of plot.  
> POV will switch around a lot during this fic.  
> Please keep in mind that, this being a fic that takes place in the Saw universe, and I've tried to tag this fix appropriately to warn about any possible triggers that come to mind-- please feel free to tell me if I happpned to have missed a tag, and I'm sorry in advance if that does end up happening!  
> 

There was noise, and then there was something touching him, shaking him awake, calling his name.

 

The voice, it sounded familiar, he noted to himself as he was dragged from his sleep.

He also noted that this wasn't his bed, or was it always this uncomfortable? But then, why was he sitting?

 

That's what ended up causing Evan to finally open his eyes, rubbing at them wildly. He looked up to meet eyes with..

 

Connor Murphy?

 

No. No. This was a dream. Connor Murphy was dead. He was dreaming. There was no other explanation to this situation.

 

There was no other explanation as to why he was sitting here, in an unfamiliar room, with Connor, his fake best friend, in front of him.

 

Maybe focusing on the dead kid in front of him was a bad idea, he decided, so he looked at the room.

 

Which was.. a terrible idea, because this wasn't familiar. Dreams could only take place in places he's seen, right? Or was that faces?

 

He could feel his heart sink when he realized the dull pain in his neck from sleeping in such an odd position. He decided to stand, and almost immediately fell because this wasn't real this wasn't real this wasn't real.

 

Waking up and having no idea where he was? Check.

Said area being extremely gross? Check.

Extremely gross room having stains and most definitely in an abandoned house and/or shelter? Check.

 

No.

 

He couldn't. There was no way. He was doing _fine._ This wasn't fair, he'd done this before already, why again? Nonononono he couldn't not again, never again.

 

As he curled up and allowed the panic to consume him, he tried to recall the day's events-- anything that'd lead up to this moment.

 

* * *

  


Senior year. As much as he didn't want to go, the pep talk from his mom along from him not wanting to have to spend another day alone with his thoughts and memories ended up acting as his motivation to actually go.

 

Getting dressed would never not be weird-- who would ever be able to cope with the fact that their arm was gone?

 

There were times when he would experience that “phantom limb” pain. It's weird to feel pain in a place that isn't there anymore. He could deal with the strange itching sensation, but the pain that brought him back to the events that lead to him losing his left arm? No way.

 

He threw his polo on and struggled for a moment to change into his khaki pants.

 

At one point in time, he realized that the way he dressed wasn't exactly fashionable, but he really, really couldn't have cared.

 

He'd take someone insulting his clothing choice over them pointing out his lack of half his left arm any day.

 

The bus was as miserable as it always was. If Evan were the same person he was just months ago, he just might have had a full blown panic attack.

 

But now? He was just.. tired. He was so, so tired of everything. This was how he felt when he..

 

No. He wasn't going to finish that thought. Not here, not on a school bus, not anywhere near anything school related.

 

He made his way inside the school in a daze, and was stopped just a few feet away from his locker. He was once again reminded that he was tired, and if doing basic things like going to school drained him, then things that really required him to put effort into were going to be the death of him.

 

Which, honestly? Wasn't a bad idea now that he thought of it.

 

“How was your summer?” Alana grinned. It could totally be blamed on how absolutely drained of life he was right now, but that smile didn't sit right on her face-- not that he'd ever point it out verbally, that'd be rude, and Evan wasn't a rude person.

 

“Oh, I-”

 

“Mine was productive, I did three internships and ninety hours of community service.”

 

“That's really impressive-”

 

“And even with all that? I still managed to make some great friends,” she paused, and he could have sworn that Alana's smile had completely disappeared for a moment, but again, who was he to trust himself right now? “Or, acquaintances, more like.”

 

“Oh, uh, would you maybe want to--”

 

“Oh my god,” Alana gasped. “What happened to your arm?”

 

“I.. I needed.. need to-” he cut himself off this time. There was no way he could continue that story.

 

Alana, however, didn't seem to notice. She didn't even seem to be listening, honestly.

 

“Oh, really? My grandma died this summer this Summer, it was shortly after breaking her hip. The doctors like to say that it was the beginning of the end.”

 

Okay, there was _no_ mistaking the moment of.. anger he caught for a brief moment. Or was it sadness? Either way, Evan _knew_ that one wasn't his mind deciding to fuck up his life more than it already had.

 

“Happy first day!”

 

And then she was gone. He couldn't truthfully say that he was 100% guilty of the sigh of relief that escaped him. All he had to do now was just grab what he needed and head off to class. He could do this, he had to do this, had to show that he was okay even if he was probably doing worse.

 

“Holy shit, what'd you do, fuck up your arm while trying to break into Zoe Murphy's room?”

 

In his defense, he really hadn't thought that Jared would approach him, given the entire Connor situation last year.

 

“What? No, I-”

 

“Dude, you had to have done some seriously fucked up shit if you're missing an arm. How do you even manage to lose your arm?"

 

He wasn't sure that anyone would be able to truly understand the severity of those words, honestly.

 

Evan couldn't remember much after that. He recalled how the room seemed to spin, how he had to sit down, and how Jared kept telling him that he was kidding, how the bell rung, and how he stayed right there, allowing his own memories to consume him.

 

* * *

  


It was the day of his attempt; the day he decided to jump. He remembered jumping, surviving, and waiting for someone to come and get him.

 

Evan would soon come to realize that it would end up being one of his worst decisions yet.

 

Yes, someone did come to get him, he was sure of it. No, that person didn't come to save him-- this person would be the reason he'd never be able to go out alone ever again.

 

He remembered that the person was holding something, and a stinging sensation once they got close (they were moving awfully fast) and then everything went black.

 

Evan later awoke in an unfamiliar room with a headache the made him want to go back to sleep.

 

What kept him awake, and what had originally woken him up, was screaming.

 

And, when compared to sleep, the screaming definitely took priority in this situation. When he stood, he had first yelped from the pain that shot through his arm (yeah, definitely broken) and the lights went from dull-abandoned-prison-flickery to hospital-like-bright in an instant. He blinked rapidly, taking in his surroundings.

 

He was in a cell, that he was certain of, and so was the lady across from him-- the person who was screaming, probably. Evan noticed that she had some sort of device attached to her head that she seemed to be trying to yank off, when he felt around his head, his heart sank as he came to discover that he had the device attached to himself, too.

 

However, he wasn't given much time to even do that, because the TV in front of the bars flashed on, and he was greeted with some sort of doll, or puppet, rather. It turned to face the screen and began to speak.

 

_“Hello Evan and Emily, I want to play a game.”_

 

He wanted to scream, cry, get out of here. He'd heard the rumors of this, he'd read the articles about the infamous technically-not killer.

 

Yet, a part of him never really wanted to believe it. He managed to convince himself that it was all a sort of conspiracy.

 

And he soon realized that he had never been more wrong about something in his entire life.

 

_“You both have shown that you are not grateful for the life you have been given. You take and you take from those around you and still can not find it within yourselves to be anything but selfish.”_

 

_“The devices upon your heads are to help you. The both of you want it all to stop, to quiet your heads, yet have failed to take your own lives.”_

 

He looked back over to the lady across from him-- Emily, and he couldn't process it, couldn't process any of this. He was going to die, he was sure of it.

 

_“So, if you truly wish for death, you will do nothing. Or, have you only wanted attention this entire time? The devices upon your heads will continue to drill into your skull.”_

 

He wanted to scream, but his voice caught in his throat. This was happening, he knew it was-- the pain was way too real for it not to be, but he just.. couldn't believe it. But really, would anyone's brain be able to process it in this sort of situation? He'd like to think not, he'd like to believe that he was normal and fit in with society in at least one small way.

  


_“You will both have one minute to give and repent for all you have taken from those around you, or you can let it end here in one last selfish act. One of you will make it out of here, and that will be decided upon a great sacrifice, which is that of your own flesh.”_

 

He was surprised he hadn't fainted right there. Emily began to scream.

 

 _“Whoever gives the most will leave, and will be gifted with a second chance. You have one minute. Live or die, make your choice_ . _”_

 

And then the tv shut off, and was replaced with the faint sound of ticking.

 

He was going to die.

 

Well, either that or..

 

He was going to have to watch someone die.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts as the screws on each side of his head began to drill inside. He screamed, and faintly noted that Emily was screaming, too.

 

This was when he realized the table, and the knives, and he really, really wanted to curl up right now, tell himself this was a dream.

 

But there was a part of himself that just.. wouldn't let that happen.

 

He knew it was selfish after all of this, but he didn't want to die-- not here, not like this.

 

With one look over to the other, he saw that Emily had decided that she'd cut off her breasts.

 

Which would probably be comedic in literally any other situation, honestly; even in a situation like this, there were still people who would jump at any opportunity to brag about their bodies.

 

He vaguely wondered if there was a guy out there who'd chop off his dick in this situation.

 

The drilling into his mind and the ticking that seemed to grow louder dragged him away from the safety of his mind.

 

Evan scrambled over to the table and gripped on to the knife; after taking one good look at his broken arm, he had decided that he'd cut it off.

 

The rest was only a fuzzy memory, all he could remember was the pain, the adrenaline, how he screamed and cried as he brought the knife through his arm.

 

He remembers feeling dizzy, the time nearly giving out, and stumbling over to put his arm on the scale.

 

He remembers how moments later, the alarm went off, signaling their time being up. He remembers seeing that sacrificing his arm was enough to outweigh the severed breast.

 

He remembers hiding behind the wall, covering his ears as Emily's screams echoed throughout the room.

 

He remembers hearing a thump-- probably her body hitting the ground, and then silence.

  
  


And that. That was how Evan Hansen had lost his arm.

 

* * *

  
  


The rest of the school day passed by in a blur. All he could remember was panicking, and he remembered someone offering to take him to the nurse's office.

  
  
  


Back to the present, where there was screaming and yelling. He stood abruptly, his voice scratchy as he began to frantically search his pockets.

 

“What are you doing?” He deep voice commanded.

 

“Tape,” was all Evan could manage, his heart sinking when he looked where he was sitting to see a player for said tape.

 

“Tape?” A feminine voice echoed.

 

“Yes. Tape, check your pockets,” He wasn't sure what was keeping him from breaking down, but he knew it was the same thing that kept him from doing that the first time around.

 

There was shuffling, and then another female voice called out, and when he glanced up, he saw a tape in her grip, and immediately reached out.

 

He knew what he was expecting, he knew what this all was, but it didn't make the entire situation less terrifying when a voice cut through the speakers.

 

_“Hello, I want to play a game.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated, along with pointing out any errors I might have missed while proofreading.
> 
> Feel free to ask questions, but depending on what it is, I may or may not answer it for the sake of trying to avoid giving spoilers.
> 
> Also, I did happen to make a Tumblr account, so feel free to direct questions there, as well!
> 
> con-fuckingfused-nor


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up in a disgusting, obviously abandoned room was new.

 

Except, it was only for a moment before he remembered where he was, and what he was supposed to do.

 

See, Connor Murphy wasn't exactly living a normal life, what with his faked death that he had little to no say in, and the fact that he worked for some psychopath who took pleasure in either watching people get themselves killed or severely harm themselves and live with some sort of terrible trauma for the rest of their lives.

 

See, when you wake up in some random room and the tape tells you that you've been out for days, and that everyone thinks you've been dead, how are you supposed to react when the fucking puppet on the screen informs you that you can either be of help of fucking  _ die? _

 

Listen, Connor may have been reckless, but he wasn't an  _ idiot.  _ He knew what he was dealing with, or at least, he thought he did.

 

Jigsaw. The oh-so-famous technically-not serial killer. The person who put people into situations that caused them to fight for their lives.

 

Even Connor knew that was fucked up, that it was wrong.

 

But there was no way he was going to find himself in one of those traps that Jigsaw managed to create based on how their next victim had fucked up their life.

 

So yeah, he worked for a serial killer because he might have been too scared to say otherwise.

 

And yeah, it wasn't fun to find himself in this situation, even if it was explained to him beforehand that this was going to happen. Jigsaw had explained to him the he was “impure” and “needed to be reborn” which was a vague way of saying that he was being a selfish asshole who, for some reason, needed to suffer in order to.. not want to suffer?

 

He didn't get it, really.

 

Another thing he didn't understand was Jigsaw's identity.

 

Contrary to what the media had led the public to believe, Jigsaw was female.

 

And her identity? Well, none other than--

 

“What the fuck?”

 

He turned to meet eyes with a familiar face, and he had to remind himself not to frown. Right, not only was he in a trap-- or uh, “game” but he was stuck in this room with about seven other people.

 

And the first person to wake up was someone by the name of Xander Greene, Connor's former drug dealer.

 

Fuck, why couldn't he, at the very least, be placed into a room filled with people who  _ wouldn't  _ recognize him as the kid who supposedly died a year ago?

 

Xander's mouth opened, closed, then opened once more. Connor may have laughed at that, but he probably would have been just as surprised if he woke up to see some dead kid standing in front of him in some weird, sketchy room.

 

“Connor?”

 

“Yeah, what?” Okay, so maybe responding to that as if nothing were wrong was a bad idea on his part, but what else was he supposed to say? He was positive there were cameras in this room, maybe even mics; he couldn't risk angering  _ her. _

 

“What? That's not.. but you're..” Xander rubbed his eyes, before he finally seemed to decide to look around the room. Connor didn't think it was possible for his eyes to get any wider, but he was often wrong about a lot of things. “Where the fuck are we?”

 

Connor shrugged, because there was no way he was going to hint that he knew the truth to that answer in a room filled with so many people. Xander alone definitely didn't have the power to fuck him up, but there was a guy on the other side of the room that could undoubtedly snap Connor in half if he wanted to.

 

“Don't know, I woke up a few minutes ago,” he said simply.

 

But clearly, Xander had some sort of bullshit detector because he was suddenly grabbing the collar of his shirt. Which, okay, might have been a little threatening if literally anyone  _ but  _ Xander had done that.

 

To put it in perspective, Xander Greene was a 5’2 23 year old with brown eyes, red hair, and freckles.

 

Yes, he was also a drug dealer. Even now, thinking about someone like Xander having such an occupation made him want to laugh because yikes, Xander looked like the kind of person who'd go to math tournaments or something-- or, in other words, Xander looked like a huge fucking nerd.

 

“Listen, I'm just as lost as you are. I'm proposing we wait for everyone else to wake up so we can get to the bottom of this, yeah?”

 

Xander seemed reluctant, but he wasn't given a chance to speak before someone else began to speak.

 

“My head hurts,” she complained, and Connor's blood ran cold. That voice sounded  _ way too fucking young.  _ There was an actual child in here and holy fuck that was so so wrong who in their right mind would throw  _ a child  _ into this??

 

Connor had thought that Jigsaw couldn't prove to be more twisted than she had shown to be, but he was often wrong about a lot of things, so what did he know?

 

Nothing, obviously.

 

He and Xander made their way over to the girl, leaning over next to her. Her eyes widened and she almost immediately curled into a ball, “Get away!”

 

Connor and Xander stepped back, holding their hands up in surrender. In the back of his mind, he noted that she shared a resemblance to someone he knew, he just.. didn't know who that person was just yet.

 

Xander was the first one to speak (thank god, because Connor was too busy trying to figure out the most unimportant details about this entire situation, obviously.) “Hey, listen, we're not here to hurt you. We both woke up not too long ago, we're just as scared as you are. I'm Xander,” he extended his hand up to her.

 

The girl still seemed very, very scared, but there was like, 0.01% less fear evident to her now, which was.. progress.

 

“Mia,” she nodded, taking his hand and standing up. Then, she turned to Connor. “What's your name?”

 

“Uh, Connor. Hi.”

 

10/10 Connor interactions, folks.

 

“Where are we?” She asked, looking around at the five other unconscious people lying uncomfortably on the ground.

 

“We don't know,” Xander sighed. “But we're going to find a way out of here. Promise.”

 

Really, how in the actual fuck did Xander end up becoming a drug dealer, of all things? He didn't fit the description. At all.

 

Mia seemed unhappy with that answer, but she didn't complain.

 

So, they say in silence until the next person woke up.

 

Or rather, this time, the next three people.

 

Both were just as confused as everyone else seemed to be and one of them starting sobbing the moment they tried to explain that they were just as clueless as she was.

 

They introduced themselves as Olivia White, Trinity Moore, and Rosé Castilee; Olivia being the one who sobbed her eyes, Trinity sat there in complete and utter silence, and Rose seemed to scan her surroundings in search for any clues as to why she might be here instead of verbally asking why.

 

Connor quickly decided that he found Olivia to be excruciatingly annoying-- not just because of her crying, that was understandable, but her entire appearance just seemed to radiate “rich girl who takes everything for granted” and he didn't appreciate it. Or, y'know, the kind of girl who'd happily cause countless financial struggles to her parents that could've easily been avoided and not feeling even a shred of guilt for it.

 

Another thing that made him realize that he did  _ not  _ like Olivia at all would be the fact that her sobbing caused that huge and really fucking terrifying guy to finally wake.

 

And boy oh boy, he was, by far, the most difficult person to try and talk to.

 

Connor couldn't even get a word in before he was shoving him, clenching his fists, and nearly getting ready to punch Connor.

 

Thankfully, Xander stopped him-- for only a moment, of course, because now Xander was the one getting the ever living shit nearly beat out of him.

 

Of all people to stop big scary dude from murdering everyone in this room, he hadn't expected it to be Mia.

 

“Excuse me?” Mia said, tugging at the man's shirt. “Can you please not hurt anyone? That's very rude, and Connor said that we're all lost, and that we should all wait for everyone to wake up and make a plan to get out!”

 

He doesn't think he'll ever be able to comprehend just  _ how  _ that managed to calm big terrifying dude, but it did.

 

“What's your name? Mine's Mia!” She grinned.

 

“Nathaniel.” He responded, before looking around the room. “And how old are you, Mia?”

 

“This many!” She exclaimed, proudly holding up both hands, and Connor's heart sank.

 

Jigsaw really put a child in here, and not only that, but said child wasn't even old enough to be considered a teenager.

 

When he made it out of this, he was going to knock some sense into Jigsaw, no matter what the consequences to the action might be.

 

Because, he may be working for a serial killer, but he actually had a fucking  _ soul  _ and common sense, both of which told him that while no one deserved to be in here, a ten year old of all people should be off limits.

 

“One two three..” Mia trailed off, counting everyone who was awake. “Seven awake, one asleep!” She announced with a grin. “Should we let him sleep?”

 

He wasn't sure he could handle having to explain his sort-of-but-not-really bullshit story to one more person, but he lost even more motivation to do it when he saw just _ who  _ this sleeping person happened to be.

 

Evan Hansen, the kid who took advantage of his supposed death.

 

Evan Hansen, the same person who manipulated his entire family and even went as far as tricking Zoe into dating him.

 

Evan Hansen, the kid who had already suffered through one of these “games” and probably didn't need another one to be taught some sort of sick and complex lesson about appreciating life or whatever.

 

What. The. Fuck??

 

After a moment of just.. standing there, it became clear that no one else was going to wake him, so Connor took it upon himself to do that, because he could be a decent person for once, right?

 

He placed a hand on Evan's shoulder and shook him as lightly as he could, watching as Evan woke slowly, watching as realization settled in him, and as he began to panic.

 

When Evan began hyperventilating, Xander pushed him out of the way to try and comfort him. He might've laughed at the whole drug dealer thing for like, the seventeenth time in the past hour but there was something tugging on the back of his mind; there was something about Evan that he was missing, and he didn't know what, and as much as he wanted to tell his mind to fuck off, there was another part of him that countered it by reminding him that it wasn't just anything, it was important.

 

But, he told the thought to at least back off for a moment, because he was a little more focused on Evan, curled up against the wall, hugging his knees close and shaking back and forth.

 

“Nonono.. this can't.. I can't.. this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real..”

 

“Well guess what, it is, so get your act together and help us figure this shit out, will ya?” Nathaniel called out, but Evan didn't seem to hear him.

 

Evan looked like he wasn't aware of anything going on around him, it looked more like he was trapped in his own mind. Horrible as it was, there wasn't anything they could do about it, so they waited for him to stop crying (silently, mind you; nothing like the ungodly wailing Olivia had resorted to earlier on) and for him to stop shaking so much-- for him to come back to his senses.

 

Or at least, Connor waited.

 

Nathaniel grew impatient and began yelling at Evan, who still didn't seem like he was hearing everything. Olivia had begun to cry now while Trinity and Mia had resorted to watching the chaos unravel before them. Xander seemed at a loss for what to do and Connor was just.. confused and angry and tired and he just really, really wanted some peace and quiet already.

 

It was all interrupted when Evan suddenly stood up, feeling around himself while his eyes scanned the room wildly. He seemed  _ way  _ too coherent for someone who was having a full-blown breakdown like, a second ago.

 

“What are you doing?” Nathaniel commanded, his voice echoing throughout the room, practically radiating anger.

 

Cruel as it was, if they were going to have to get rid of anyone out of this group, (if? No,  _ when _ ) he hoped that, out of Olivia and Nathaniel, it would end up at least being the latter; he wasn't sure how much longer he could force himself to deal with him.

 

“Tape,” was all Evan responded with, and if everyone didn't look confused already (or, in Nathaniel's case, pissed) then they definitely did now.

 

“...Tape?” Rosé echoed.

 

Evan seemed.. annoyed? Woah, okay, that was new. “Yes, tape. Check your pockets.”

 

Really, if he hadn't experienced it first hand, there would be no way of telling that Evan had just gotten done having a panic attack.

 

Despite Nathaniel's very noticeable protest, everyone seemed to have listened to Evan's request- or demand, rather.

 

Evan audibly gasped when he found a device on the floor, and Connor could swear he saw a smile for a brief moment before he held it up.

 

And soon enough, Mia ended up being the one with the tape itself, and she presented it to Evan.

 

As he watched the other press play, it finally hit him, the thing that had been tugging on the back of his mind earlier on; the very important detail that he really shouldn't have forgotten so easily but did anyway because he's an idiot.

 

He remembered the conversation almost vividly now.

 

_ “Now, among your group is one who has already been provided with a second chance; someone who is unworthy of a third chance at life will be among you. He is to not make it out, and you may use him to your advantage. I know it might be cruel, but we can use this as a lesson; people must take their new chance at life and use it to the fullest of its potential, not succumb to old, destructive habits. Evan Hansen is to not make it out of this house alive. _ ”

 

And Connor couldn't focus on anything else after that. He couldn't seem to register anything going around him. The voice coming from the player was nothing but a distant noise, as was the screaming that followed suit.

 

He vaguely remembers seeing someone pick up a phone with a paper on it. Remembers Evan screaming and yelling, something about the paper specifically instructing to not use it, crying and saying that they  _ needed  _ to follow the rules.

 

Didn't react when the phone exploded and took Olivia out with it.

 

Didn't hear the thump when her motionless body hit the ground or the screams of horror that happen afterwards.

 

Because all he could think about was the fact that he was going to have this kid's blood on his hands, that it was his job to ensure that someone didn't get out of this.

 

It made him feel sick.

 

Weren't they all supposed to be given an equal chance at survival? Wasn't that Jigsaw's whole motto??

 

Evan Hansen, the kid who took advantage of his death, manipulated his family, started a whole campaign based off of their faked friendship.

 

Evan Hansen, the same person who became a worldwide inspiration overnight thanks to his speech about not being alone or whatever, about the two of them at some orchard or whatever.

 

Evan Hansen, the kid with an anxiety disorder, who was on his way to recovery (or the closest thing anyone could get to recovery) after finding himself trapped in a “game.”

 

Evan Hansen, the one person who was against all odds now, who wasn't supposed to make it out of here alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, thanks to my friend Taylor for agreeing to help me with proofing and pitching in ideas for me to help the story; Mia wouldn't be in the story without her help and honestly I'm so thankful for it.  
> Another thing to note is that Rosé belongs to Taylor as well! Which I'm also thankful for because creating characters is exhausting, woah.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five hours.

The world can't seem to stop spinning and there's screaming and he really, really can't seem to get a hold of his breathing because he's way too focused on the dead body on the ground.

  


Evan feels terribly sick, and he wants to believe this is all some horrible nightmare, but he knows it's not; knows how real this is and how the dead girl on the ground who's missing most of her head probably isn't going to be the only dead one at the end of this.

  


He can't help but feel guilty for this, there's something in the back of his mind screaming, telling him that he should have done more-- even if he had begged for her to not use the phone, to listen.

  


Because as cruel as it was, when you found yourself in one of these games, the only thing you could do was listen, and then maybe, just maybe you'd make it out alive.

  


He's sobbing, he knows it, and he wants it to stop, but it's not like there's anyone here to save him or calm him down and he had a therapy appointment scheduled today (or whenever the first day of senior year was; he doubts it was too far away-- two days at most.) that he kind of wishes he was at because he's in desperate need of talking about how absolutely broken he is--

  


“Evan?”

  


If his heart was in his stomach before, it was now six feet under, because there was no way he was hearing that-- this had to be a coincidence. He really,  _ really  _ did  _ not  _ want to look at whoever spoke, he doesn't want it to be true, it can't be.

  


But when does Evan listen to himself?

  


And fuck, there's a child standing in front of him, but not just any child.

  


Maybe, if it weren't for all the pictures his father seemed to want to send to him via email and/or text message, he wouldn't have been able to recognize that face.

  


Maybe if he hadn't felt pressured into his dad's requests to call every now and then so he could meet the children he actually seemed to intend on raising.

  


Maybe then, she wouldn't have recognized him, and he wouldn't have recognized her.

  


Then, he wouldn't suddenly feel so much rage towards the world because who puts a child into this?

  


And of all people, why Mia, his dad's oldest daughter, of all people?

  


This was bad.

  


This was so, so, so bad.

  


But he couldn't think of that now, couldn't let himself be dragged into another panic just yet, not when he suddenly felt the need to get his act together so he could get to the bottom of this and find out whose idea it was to throw a ten-year-old in here.

  


This was so beyond fucked.

  


And Evan really couldn't keep himself from thinking that this game wasn't going to be as fair as his last game (if “fair” and “game” could be used in the same sentence, that is.)

  


“Mia?” He finally speaks, and he winces because his voice alone is practically screaming out for help and he isn't appreciating this because, although he might not be the right person for such a job at all, what with his anxiety, but he wanted to try and keep Mia as calm as he could manage.

  


Though, thinking of that now, maybe that was too late; she'd just witnessed someone die in front of her, “calm” wasn't in anyone's vocabulary as of now.

  


Not when their lives were in danger.

  


“What are we doing here?”

  


“I don't know,” he answers, and it's not a complete lie; Evan might know why he's here, but he's certainly at a loss as to why Mia is here. 

  


As for the rest of the people in this room, he can only assume they're here for the same reason, too.

  


And Connor? He doesn't want to think about it. That's a thought for tomorrow.

  


If tomorrow still exists, of course. He's not sure if he can survive another game. Not sure if he can live with the fact that a single screw up could get him into another and another and another up until he dies.

  


He can't think of that right now.

  


Not that he could, anyway.

  


There's some really big guy who's beginning to yell and pace around the room and Evan isn't really processing anything until he sees someone move Mia away from him and the big guy picks Evan up only to throw him against the wall.

  


He gasps, slowly sitting up and bringing his hand to the back of his head. He hopes it's not a concussion, because he can't deal with that; somewhere deep down, he knows that sooner or later, he's going to have to deal with much more pain than that, but he isn't sure how much he can handle, doesn't want a concussion to end up being what screws him over.

  


“How the fuck did you know about the tape?” The man demands, and Evan had been so lost in his thoughts that he'd almost forgotten about him.

  


He's too tired for this.

  


Lazily, he stumbles to his feet, leaning against the wall slightly and inhaling deeply.

  


As much as he hates communication, he hates the idea of being thrown against the wall and his skull cracking and then dying in front of his half-sister even more, so he can put up with this-- he has to.

  


He raises his half of an arm, gesturing to it, staying silent to let it sink in, but mainly just to find the right words.

  


“I've played before.” He answers simply, staring down at his feet.

  


Apparently, scary guy isn't happy with that answer, because he shoves Evan against the wall again and continues yelling. He's kind of dizzy.

  


“Game? What do you mean 'game?’ Is this some sort of sick joke to you?”

  


Evan holds his arm up in front of himself, as if that will protect him from another blow, before he speaks again. “No, it's not. It's really not. I just.. please, I just want to get out of here, and we can't do that if we don't follow the rules.”

  


He closes his eyes, tries to get a hold of his breathing, opens them, vaguely notes that, while he should totally feel panicked about all of this, especially considering the state he was in not long ago, but he just feels.. numb. And tired. He's so, so tired and he only woke up a few minutes ago.

  


All of this is too emotionally draining.

  


It also doesn't help knowing that the tape had said something about them all breathing in some sort of dangerous gas that's sure to be fatal, that there's some sort of antidote hidden around this house, but there's a limited amount.

  


He doesn't think he's going to survive this, and he doesn't have the energy to fight that thought back. Doesn't really know if he wants to.

  


This is all very wrong and terrible and he can't do anything about it because a single relapse landed him in another game and it's only going to happen again and..

  


He really wants to know where all that fear from earlier went, he thinks he prefers that over whatever this is right now.

  


But he can't think of that, because they need to get out of this room. He's going to find a way to get Mia out, at the very least.

  


“There's a door,” he says, pointing in the direction of it. “Is it unlocked?”

  


Evan has done enough research on Jigsaw to know that, if said serial killer didn't want them to leave the room, then the door would be locked.

  


Everyone only seems to stand around helplessly, staring at the object as if it's going to kill them.

  


Aside from big scary guy, who he learns is names Nathaniel thanks to Mia. Nathaniel freezes for a moment, looks around, then loudly insults everyone in the room as he walks over to the door and turns the door handle.

  


And soon enough, they've gained access to what seems to be the rest of the house.

  


He picks up Mia and gives one last look at the timer attached to the wall before he walks out with the rest of the group.

  


Five hours.

  


They have five hours before they start dropping like flies.

  


He's beginning to feel that familiar fear, and he's suddenly very nauseous and knowing that makes him feel even more scared and nauseous because where would he even throw up? The bathroom? This does look like a house, so there just might be one, but what if there's some sort of trap or something and while he's barfing his soul out the lid closes in and he dies and then the police would find his corpse with his head shoved in the toilet and it'd be all over the news and Jared would come to his funeral and laugh because what kind of idiot dies with their head in the toilet, right?

  


“Hey,” and then there's a hand on his shoulder, which kind of makes him jump, and it takes a moment for him to find out who exactly had just touched his shoulder.

  


It turns out to be some redheaded guy with freckles and those trendy round glasses and he genuinely looks concerned and for a moment Evan's convinced this guy is going to kill him right here and now and he can't let that happen because he's carrying Mia and he doesn't want his poor self-defense skills to get both him and Mia killed because, even from the dead, he wouldn't be able to handle that guilt and--

  


“Woah, hey, dude, uh- try breathing?” He scratches the back of his neck and shrugs, before extending a hand. “I'm Xander, by the way.”

  


Evan has to set down Mia for a moment, and keeps a close eye on her while he wipes his hand on his pants and shakes Xander's hand. “Evan.” He manages.

  


Xander stays silent for a moment, and Evan would have excused himself if it weren't for the fact that it looked like Xander wanted to say something, and was either debating whether or not it would be appropriate to say or he was just trying to find the right words. He liked to believe that, out of anyone, he understood how that felt, so waiting for something to be said was the least he could do.

  


He reminded himself that he could walk away right now and it truly wouldn't matter in the end, because in five hours, either one of them could end up dead.

  


But he didn't want to think about that, didn't want to think about the fact that every second he spent waiting was another second wasted of trying to find a way to get Mia out of here safely.

  


God, Evan was so selfish. It was no wonder why he ended up finding himself in this mess again. No wonder why he needed to prove to some absolute psycho that he was still worthy of his life.

  


Even though deep down, he knew he didn't deserve it. At all.

  


“Why are you here?” Xander blurted, and before Evan could even open his mouth, he was talking again; clarifying himself, “Okay, that sounded kind of rude. I meant, like, if you've done this once, why are you doing it again?”

  


Evan sighs, decides to remind himself that in under five hours, this conversation isn't going to have any relevance, doesn't see the point in trying to stammer out a lie.

  


“I,” he paused, closed his eyes, blinked a few times, tried to keep the tears that were beginning to invade his eyes far, far away.

  


He may have been completely aware of what he'd done-- or rather, what he tried to do, but admitting it out loud is hard. It's so so hard and hates it.

  


Thankfully, he reminds himself that he doesn't need to tell the whole story, there's no need to start from the beginning, no need to share every single detail with this person he met, like, two minutes ago.

  


Five hours.

  


“I wasn't treating myself well.”

  


And Xander frowns, he looks like he's about to ask for clarification, but then he hears an excited yell, followed by Nathaniel screaming down the hall that he thinks he's found a way out, or at least the way they're supposed to be going.

  


Evan appreciates that, although Nathaniel is absolutely selfish and would probably snap all of their necks if it meant he could make it out alive, he, at the very least, has the decency to inform all of them of a possible exit.

  


He and Xander exchange a look, and he hopes that his own expression conveys at least a little bit of an apology, because he might feel just a  _ little  _ bad for not giving him the answer he'd been looking for.

  


He reached for Mia's hand after deciding that he's not strong at all and, given how tired he is already, carrying a child when it's not absolutely necessary is going to waste too much energy than he has to offer.

  


They follow after Xander.

  


As terrible as it sounds, Evan's not risking throwing himself into any danger right now. If it were himself, then maybe he might have been a little more reckless.

  


As they head closer to the room, he can hear arguing, and he tenses up. He wants to tell Mia to stay behind so she doesn't have to watch anything, but he can't trust any part of this house.

  


Her watching someone get hurt would be better than her randomly going missing in this godforsaken house, he supposes.

  


When they get to the room, he's quick to note the yellow lighting, along with the hole in the floor.

  


Connor and Nathaniel are arguing, screaming at each other. Nathaniel is gesturing towards the pit and Connor is looking at it with an amount of fear that he wasn't aware Connor was capable of expressing, honestly. (Okay, but maybe that wasn't really.. useful. Part of Evan thought believed that Connor could only seem to express anger-- excluding the Connor he made up. He isn't going to think about that whole thing right now.)

  


“The fucking tape was addressed to  _ you _ , I'm not going into that fucking  _ needle pit  _ just because you're scared-” Connor spits out, but he's interrupted by Nathaniel picking him up and throwing him into the pit.

  


Evan can hear the clutter of the used needles and screaming and he has to step out of the room for a second to throw up because this is so, so, fucked up.

  


Five hours, he reminds himself. Just under five more hours that he has to put up with this.

  


He doubts he's strong enough for it, but he doesn't have a say in that; he's never had a say in anything.

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needle in a haystack.

They all shuffled out of the room, slowly but surely. Everyone's taking careful steps and observing their surroundings, and Connor has no right to complain about it because he's doing that too.

 

He's one of the last people to leave the room, and Evan, Xander, and Mia go one way while Nathaniel, Rosé, and Trinity go the other.

 

He kind of wants to follow Evan because really, he's the only person in this group of people he knows, but right now Evan is kind of reminding him of a protective mom that wouldn't hesitate to beat anyone who even thought of laying a hand on Mia and honestly? Again, he really had no right to judge, because if he'd found someone like Zoe in this mess, he wouldn't give a second thought to hurting anyone who dared putting her into this mess.

 

He didn't want to follow after Nathaniel, either, but he did anyway because, despite what he was now doing with his life (helping someone who was oh so obviously not mentally stable in the slightest get off to people getting murdered in the worst of ways) he still liked to consider himself a decent person; he wasn't going to leave Nathaniel with two girls. Sure, Connor wasn't really much, considering how lanky he was, but he wasn't about to let this absolute maniac hit two women for absolutely no valid reason.

 

“We need to search,” Rosé announced. “There has to be something around here, right? A clue. I've heard about this bastard all over the news, even read articles about him; I don't think we'll find out a magic cure or whatever in plain sight.”

 

Trinity broke down in tears again, and Connor couldn't help but roll his eyes.

 

Yeah, it was definitely understandable to cry in this situation, but Trinity was one of those criers that cried  _ obnoxiously  _ loud, Connor couldn't help but wonder if she was putting an effort into her sobbing because  _ Jesus Christ. _

 

Of all the people in this house, Connor could confidently state that, aside from Evan, Trinity was an absolute fucking mess; she had long, curled and untamed hair that looked like it had been put up at one point, but now whatever hair ties and bobby-pins that had been used to put it together had now been consumed by the hair itself. Not only that, but what once must have been eyeliner and mascara had been smeared all over face, along with lipstick-- the only comparison that Connor could manage to think of in that moment would be a clown that got caught in a really bad storm.

 

In made him laugh out loud, and earned him confused glances from the girls and absolute rage from Nathaniel.

 

“What’s so fucking funny to you?” He demanded, and Connor only shrugged, because he wasn't in the mood to explain anything to this guy who had the temper of an eight-year-old on the Xbox.

 

And in that moment, Connor was truly convinced Nathaniel was going to bash his head against the fucking wall, but Rosé had called out to them, announcing that she found a door-- Trinity was still crying.

 

Props to Rosé for being the only useful person in this group of people.

 

So, Nathaniel walked off without another word and Connor followed. And yes, there was a door, and he frowned, because he hadn't remembered this in the map that Jigsaw had provided him.

 

He was growing less and less confident that he had a chance at making it out of here. Growing more and more convinced that he was being set up for failure. It wasn't like there wasn't a possibility of that being true; Evan Hansen himself was proof that these games weren't fair for everyone-- or anyone, really.

 

The room was bright. So bright, in fact, that it reminded him of a hospital. The walls were white, the floor was white and tiled, and right in the middle of it all sat a bed.

 

Oh yeah, how could he forget the giant metal door that had an entirely new timer on the other side of the room?

 

Above the bed hung a string with a paper attached to it, the paper reading “NATHANIEL” in black sharpie.

 

He couldn't help but feel relieved, because Nathaniel was an ass who definitely deserved something to clean up his act, so seeing an entire trap dedicated to him? He couldn't say he was entirely against the idea of it.

 

Nathaniel grumbled, yanking the paper off the wire without a second thought, and Connor froze up because  _ just how idiotic and reckless could a single person be holy shit. _

 

And then the timer started counting down.

 

Because, really, who would've thought that yanking on a fucking wire  _ wouldn't  _ trigger something??

 

Attached to the note was a tape, which Nathaniel nearly fucking broke while slamming onto the 'play’ button.

 

_ “Hello Nathaniel, I want to play a game. You see, all your life, you've been ignorant to those around you, prioritizing yourself above all else, not caring who or what needs to be sacrificed in the name of you achieving your goals. You believe the world revolves around you, but I can promise that, since you have gone missing, the world has continued to turn, people go on-- it's almost as if you were never there. In fact, the only people who seem to notice your absence are those who fear you the most, let's take your mother, for example.” _

 

Nathaniel froze up, and lifted his arm, as if he were going to throw the device against the wall, but he seemed to think better of that, and reluctantly continued to listen.

 

_ “For years, you have made those around you suffer. Not only do you promote the use of illegal drugs, you have, countless times, provided people with what they had not requested; purposely giving them the wrong thing for the sake of your own profit, ruining the trust they had in you. Not only that, but such actions have lead to it being.. fatal. You seem to forget that there are people out there who have lives to return to, people who have families and friends that would dearly miss them. In fact, I believe you have been put into a room with someone who is still grieving; someone whose life you have managed to completely and utterly destroy.” _

 

Connor looked back at Rosé and Trinity, because he couldn't think of anyone he'd lost as of recently (he liked to keep watch of his family, check in with them to make sure they weren't absolutely falling apart-- which, they weren't, by the way.) So it had to be one of them, right?

 

Trinity didn't even seem to be listening, she seemed more focused on wiping the snot running from her nose and the tears from her eyes rather than focus on the fact that they were quite literally in some sort of death trap.

 

Rosé, however, seemed emotionless.. or at least, mainly so. She seemed kind of.. mad? Sad? Lost? Yeah, okay, she was definitely listening.

 

He should have done research into all of this beforehand; it wasn't like Jigsaw didn't provide him with the resources to do just that, he had simply lacked the motivation.

 

_ “Today, you will learn to be reborn. Beneath the bed before you lies what can be most easily summarized as the “pit of needles” inside, you will find the key to the door. Unfortunately, you happen to have a timer, and as I speak, you should have approximately four minutes to find what you are looking for.” _

 

There was laughter from the device, and then silence.

 

They all stood there, stunned. Of course, the person to ruin that was Nathaniel himself, who immediately threw the tape player to the ground and stomped on it, before taking a step closer to the bed and shoving it to its side.

 

They all peered over the edge of what was indeed a pit of needles. Connor's mouth hung open in shock, because, upon closer inspection, they weren't just needles, they seemed to have been used, discarded.

 

Just having to look at this fuckery made him cringe because holy fuck.

 

Suddenly, Nathaniel grabbed a hold of Trinity's wrist, and she screamed.

 

“Let go of me!” She screeched.

 

And, without thinking, Connor punched Nathaniel, causing him to let go of Trinity.

 

He felt triumphant for maybe .05 seconds before Nathaniel was picking him above the ground and oh shitshitshit

 

“Hey, fuck off! This one was for you, and I can promise she won't be too fucking happy with you if you don't play by the obviously set rules,” Connor warned.

 

“Find the fucking key before I beat your head into the wall,” was all Nathaniel said.

 

And Connor wanted to say more, because he was good at arguing (or, at least he really liked to think he was) he was in the air, and making contact with the needle pit.

 

Anyone who could manage to not scream when suddenly thrown into something that immediately had several needles sticking into him from all over was, in no way, human. Connor's eyes went wide, and he completely forgot how to breathe for a moment and holy shit this burned and he definitely had like, 15 different diseases or whatever now fuckfuckfuck.

 

“Search for the fucking key!” Nathaniel screamed.

 

“Fuck you!” Was all he could manage, but he began searching because in the back of the mind he knew, hoped, that Jigsaw was watching this and would provide him with something that would prevent him from dying from the now 30 different diseases he had to have just been exposed to and hopefully give Nathaniel the kind of punishment he deserves because, out of everyone in this world, Nathaniel deserved to be put through hell.

 

After all, the tape had just gotten done explaining that he was here  _ because  _ of his selfish actions. There was no way he was going to get out of this by doing  _ just that _ , right???

 

He lifted his arm up, shifting in the pile and screaming again because moving hurt and he felt dizzy and sick and this was so wrong he hated this.

 

Connor brought his hand back down and began to frantically search in the pile, searching for something that was nearly impossible to find. A needle in a haystack.

 

However, it seemed that Connor was all about looking the impossible right in its eyes and beating its ass, because his eyes caught on to a needle that glowed blue, and when he picked it up, he found that there was a let attached to it.

 

He threw the needle out of the godforsaken pit with another “fuck you.”

 

At some point in time, Evan, Xander, and Mia must have run into the room because the next thing he knew, Evan Hansen was pulling him out of the pit and setting him gently on the ground, slowly pulling the remaining needles that still stuck inside him out.

 

Mia was helping too, or at least he thought she was.

 

He must have lost a little too much blood or maybe the discarded needles themselves were affecting him because everything was kind of out of focus and wow he was in a  _ lot  _ of pain.

 

“I'll uh.. I think I saw band-aids back there? Just- just hold on, okay?”

 

And then Evan was gone again, rushing out of the room.

 

Connor was hit with another wave of nausea when his oh so  _ wonderful  _ mind decided to remind him that Evan wouldn't be making it out of this alive.

 

Mia and Rosé helped remove the last few remaining needles, and when they were finished, Mia leaned over to one of his wounds and kissed it.

 

“All better now!” She grinned.

 

He can't help but laugh a little because wow, children really are clueless, he misses that.

 

Connor sat up just as Evan walked back into the room, frowning. “I could've sworn I saw band-aids back there? But they aren't, so..” he shrugged.

 

They're interrupted by the one and only Nathaniel, who cheers out triumphantly as the door opens.

 

Which is.. weird, because he could've sworn that he, at one point, had watched the timer run out.

 

But whatever. If it wasn't meant to open, then it wouldn't have in the first place.

 

The door opening was just another thing that added to him trying to figure out what exactly Jigsaw was up to.

 

This had to be her most complex trap yet.

 

Nathaniel had run through the door, and they all stood there, shocked, before Evan ran in too.

 

Connor's mind was screaming at him that that was a really bad idea and that they should just let Nathaniel get separated from the group and Evan was truly out of his mind because this next room had to lead to another trap.

 

So, he ran after Evan, but only ended up running straight into the now-closed metal door.

 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Instead of taking responsibility, I'm going to blame the several fics I've been binge reading on my lack of constant updates instead of lack of motivation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosé and Evan are introduced to their own personal games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter include:  
> Mentions of suicide and depression.

Rosé Castille is painfully aware of why she was placed here, or she at least has a general idea. And she's only confident in stating that because she had done research on Jigsaw in the past, because she had been curious and scared and then angry.

 

Because her brother had been brutally murdered, and said murderer had yet to be found. Considering that tales of Jigsaw were all over the news, it wasn't too difficult to add a well-known serial killer to that list.

 

The loss of her brother made her spiral into a deep dark endless hole filled to the brim with terrible, terrible decisions.

 

It had only continued to get worse before she decided she couldn't take it anymore. The world had become so dull and she was just so tired. She couldn't keep fighting for happiness here, not when people were being kidnapped and murdered just about everyday. Not when her own family had now become suspect to it. Not when the killer was likely never going to be brought to justice.

 

So she got in contact with a drug dealer named Xander Greene who hooked her up with a cocktail of pills that she was sure would kill her.

 

She doesn't remember much after taking them (not that she had much time to think about it considering where she ended up when she woke again). She remembers how her heart raced and how, for a moment, regret settled in before everything became blurry and then dark.

 

However, before that darkness came, she could've sworn she saw some sort of figure approaching her. If she were religious, she might have just believed that God himself was approaching her.

 

But it didn't matter, wasn't supposed to matter because she was going to be dead soon.

 

Rosé doesn't seem to have the best luck though, because she wakes up, and it's not in a hospital bed. It's in a room filled with seven other people, all of which seemed so confused and lost.

 

She doesn't know why Nathaniel's here, but he doesn't acknowledge her and she does the same.

 

He was a pretty sketchy guy, she should have bought pills off of someone else.

 

Not that it mattered now. She was very much so alive and breathing and clearly wasn't going to be granted much time to cope with that because, before long, they discovered that they were in a game.

 

And _fuck,_ she should have known this was coming.

 

She doesn't trust these people, because she's obviously not doing much and if they found an antidote, there's no way they'd ever think of handing it over to her.

 

So she needs to find an excuse to separate herself from the group without raising suspicion.

 

The first step to that plan is fairly simple: don't do much, stay in the background and listen, watch, jump at the opportunity to leave.

 

That opportunity comes right at her when Connor is thrown into that pit, but she doesn't leave just yet, she waits.

 

Which.. is a bad decision, honestly, but it doesn't affect her, because she's granted another chance when that kid with a missing arm decides to chase after Nathaniel for whatever strange reasoning.

 

The door locks and the emo kid runs directly into the door, and she's kind of thankful that she stayed a little longer to watch that. Despite their situation, it's still kind of funny to watch.

 

Not that she has any time to laugh. While the rest of the group stares at the door in shock, she sneaks out.

 

There's a paper on the ground, so she picks it up because what does she have to lose right now? She either wastes a few seconds looking at a blank paper or she finds something crucial.

 

It seems that Jigsaw has decided her luck today has been shitty enough, because it's a note addressed to her. She doesn't recall the paper being there before, but now isn't the time to worry about that.

 

_“Dear Rosé,_

 

_Today, you are going to be gifted with a chance to finally discover the truth you have been searching high and low for for what must feel like decades for you. Today, I am going to provide you with the opportunity to be granted the information you want._

 

_However, this is not information I'm willing to simply gift to you. You will have to win a game of your own. Now is your chance to hurry to the basement before everyone else catches you acting suspicious._

 

_Are you willing to make your own sacrifices if it means bringing a villain to justice? The choice is yours.”_

 

She tucked the note in her pocket, glancing back to make sure no one was watching her before she sprinted down the stairs, a smile on her face for what had to have been the first time in months.

 

She was finally going to find out who did it.

 

* * *

 

  


Evan remembers what it was like, waking up in the hospital after having just gotten rid of his own arm.

 

He remembers being bombarded with questions from police, nurses, Jared, and even his mom.

 

There wasn't an escape from any of this, really.

 

He thinks that the strangest visit he had gotten was one by Alana Beck. No, not that her showing up was the surprise, anyone who had even heard of her would have known that she was the type of person to visit someone she'd interacted with a maximum of five times in the hospital after just surviving what could easily be listed as the most traumatizing event in his life.

 

He had been staring blankly at the wall, avoiding the tray of food on the table that stood before him because hospital food was kind of gross and he wasn't hungry anyway.

 

There was a knock on his door, and he frowned to himself, because he was sure that he would at least be given a bit of a warning before more investigators began asking him the same hundred questions over and over again.

 

Evan wasn't given any time to answer, the person just let themselves in.

 

Alana Beck walked right into the room and sat down on the chair next to it, that typical grin of hers still plastered on her face as always.

 

“Alana? Why are--”

 

“Evan! Are you okay? Your story is all over the news, and since our classmates are expressing their concerns all over social media, I decided to take it upon myself to check up on you. How are you?”

 

(He would later discover that there were no articles posted about his game, no tag regarding Evan's recovery from it was trending on Twitter, nothing. But even when he did find that out, he didn't think much of it, maybe he wasn't looking hard enough. Maybe his mom had told her and she Alana hallucinated finding out about it online or whatever.)

 

“I, uh- I'm okay? Just a little--”

 

“Good, good! That's great! I'm sure they'll all be relieved to hear that!” She nodded. “Hey, I know this is weird, but do you mind answering a few questions I have about it? I'm doing a report on Jigsaw and I think this would really help.”

 

He didn't have the energy to tell her that he was done talking about it. His head hadn't been clear enough to realize that if she had read news articles about this, she'd have all the information she would've needed.

 

So he nodded.

 

(Not that his decision mattered in the future. Future Evan would later discover that she never did a report on it.)

 

“Do you remember anything before it?”

 

“I, no, not really. I was climbing a tree and then I,” he paused, he couldn't admit he tried to take his own life that day, “I fell, and then I must have lost consciousness because when I woke up I wasn't.. I was in the trap.”

 

(He could've sworn he saw Alana frown when he said he'd fallen. Evan also could have sworn that he heard her mutter something under her breath, “game” possibly as a correction to him after he'd called the _game_ a _trap._ He hadn't stopped to think of how weird that was until she left.)

 

“Right, okay,” she began typing on her phone, looking back up at him after a moment, “How do you feel now?”

 

“Didn't I…” he trailed off. He might have already answered that question just a few moments ago, but he was worried it might come off as rude if he suddenly decided he wasn't going to answer any of her questions now. “I'm okay, he shrugged.

 

“No, I mean, how are you now? From my research, I've noticed he only seems to get to people who need to be taught some sort of lesson. Do you think you might know why he chose you? Do you feel like a new man now?”

 

And he began to feel dizzy, because these questions weren't normal. She didn't know, but what she was basically asking of him was: Did he still want to die?

 

The answer to that was no, he didn't. He wanted to live.

 

She was asking him if the “game” did help.

 

There was no way he would ever admit that it did for a moment.

 

(It's not like it mattered, because future Evan would soon find out that it didn't really help anyway. If anything, it was the reason he spiraled into a darker depression that would soon land him another spot in another game.)

 

He must have started hyperventilating, because Alana was standing up, telling him to breathe.

 

Even now, he's not too sure if he really felt a needle stab him before he suddenly felt so overwhelmingly exhausted that he passed out.

 

…..

 

Evan Hansen regains consciousness after running after some mentally fucked up drug dealer and immediately being trapped in a room with said drug dealer.

 

He wakes up and he has a dull pain in his head. He's sitting on a chair and in front of him lies a TV.

 

His heart sinks. He knows what this is. It's another game, one designed just for him.

 

He still has no idea where Nathaniel is, he sees no sight of him.

 

That's both comforting and terrifying all at once.

 

He closes his eyes, tries to get a hold of his breathing, eyes trying to search the dark room before he finally stands.

 

The TV in front of him turns on, and there's nothing but static.

 

He wants to run. He desperately wants to get up and run away and hide under his covers at home while his mom reassures him that it's all going to be okay even though it really, isn't-- even though it never will be no matter how much he tries to recover and move on.

 

But he can't, because as far as he's concerned, the only exit to this room is sealed off by a door that wouldn't unlock for him in a million years. Not to mention, there are probably cameras in this room, watching his every move.

 

He doesn't exactly enjoy the idea of slowly rotting away in this room, so he finds a remote, points it towards the TV, and presses “play.”

 

Evan Hansen may still lack a will to live, but he at least wants to have a say in when and how he gets to die.

 

He's not too sure about the details, really. One thing he can guarantee, however, is that he wants it to be quick.

 

Rotting away here and suffering from starvation and dehydration was, in no way, quick.

 

So, he presses play and the static fades into the background. He's greeted with an all too familiar face of a puppet that's quickly followed by an even more so familiar voice.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor, Xander, Mia, and Trinity (but mostly Connor and Xander)
> 
> The Rainstorm.

“Fuck!” Connor all but screams, staring at the door in front of him in complete and utter dismay.

 

“That's a meanie word,” Mia informs him with a frown.

 

And Connor's not good with dealing with kids, especially not when all of… this is happening, so he looks at her and looks back at the door, then around to the group of people before him. He frowns.

 

“We're missing someone.” He announces, “That girl with the rose thing on her shirt, I think her name was Rose too.”

 

Not that names really matter, but then again, that along with their faces will be drilled into his mind if and when he gets out of here, after the police finally discover the place and have yet another useless investigation.

 

Jigsaw knows what she's doing, knows how to properly calculate just how much time she'll have before the FBI catches up, knows how much time she has to remove any and everything that she doesn't want to be found from the area.

 

They won't find her unless she wants them to do just that, same goes for this.

 

That being said, he knows no one is going to come bursting through the door to save their lives.

 

This isn't some sweet fairytale where everyone gets out alive, isn't a story with a happy ending.

 

By the time the FBI even manage to get a good enough lead on their location, the corpses will have begun to rot and Jigsaw will have started another game.

 

He snaps back to reality when Trinity speaks up.

 

“I think I saw her leave? I don't.. I don't know.” She shrugs, and she wipes her eyes and sniffles.

 

“We'll find her later,” he decides, grabbing onto Mia's hand because even if he doesn't know how to properly deal with children, he sees no other option but to keep an eye on her now.

 

“I don't know what Jigsaw's going for, but they're obviously trying to separate us,” he realizes. He's not too sure why he's talking out loud, Trinity only seems to be useful for having excessive breakdowns that not only give him a headache, but waste everyone's time, and Mia's a child who he hopes doesn't fully comprehend what exactly is going on here.

 

Which is ridiculous, he realizes. Mia had just watched someone die. She's surprisingly calm for her age, and Connor will never not be thankful for that.

 

“Hey, dude?” Another voice interrupts, and Connor honest to fuck jumps like, five feet in the air because he had somehow managed to not only forget that Xander was there, but hadn't even seen him. “Oh, uh, sorry?”

 

Connor shrugs and mutters something about it not being his fault, Xander continues.

 

“Not to, like, anger you, but I think we need to keep going. We need to keep searching because we're still on a timer and in need of an antidote for the whole air thing the tape mentioned earlier.”

 

“Air thing?” Connor repeats, raising an eyebrow. He doesn't remember anything from the tape, he had been too busy trying not to lose his shit when the game had just nearly begun.

 

“Yeah,” Xander shrugs, and this feels too much like a casual conversation, it's kind of freaky to see how unbothered Xander looks. “Apparently, we're all breathing in this weird shit that's gonna fuck us all over when that timer runs out. Said something about an antidote.”

 

“That's a meanie word,” Mia informs him, and huffs when she seems to realize that she's going to be ignored again.

  


“Fuck,” Connor mutters, hoping that it's quiet enough to help him avoid a lecture from a ten-year-old.

 

He's relieved when she doesn't say anything about it, which either means she's given up or she really hadn't heard him.

 

“Did it say what the antidote is _for,_ exactly?” He can't help but ask.

 

His blood is boiling.

 

He never heard anything about needing an antidote before she threw him in here.

 

There's a part of him that figures that, because he's here to make sure things go as planned, she would have given him an antidote.

 

But he also knows that that probably wasn't the case at all. In fact, if she had given him something to take later, it would probably end up being something that'd speed up his death.

 

The death that seemed to be approaching soon.

 

Three hours, twenty minutes.

 

“I think he said something about, like, a deadly nerve gas?” And Xander's too calm about this, it kind of makes Connor feel ridiculous for how fearful he is.

 

Trinity starts crying again, Mia walks over to her and tries to comfort her. It doesn't work, but hey, they're both distracted and it gives Connor and Xander a chance at figuring this all out.

 

Or as much as they can.

 

Although, it kind of feels helpless. What's the point in putting so much effort trying to solve this all when he might not even make it.

 

Then he reminds himself that this gas is killing them all very, very slowly and he doesn't want to die that way.

 

And the thought of a child having to go through that also gives him enough motivation to tell himself to stop being such a downer and do something useful for once.

 

“So, any idea why you're here?” Connor asks, trying to match the calm tone that Xander is somehow managing.

 

The question throws him off, and he tenses, looking to Connor, Trinity, Mia, then to the floor.

 

“Why are _you_ here?” He shoots back.

 

Connor sighs, he doesn't have time for this. He might have just said “fuck it” to time and argued with Xander until Jigsaw finally decided to end his miserable fucking life, but then he's reminded of the ten-year-old just a few feet away.

 

Connor Murphy isn't a hero, has no intentions of acting like this because he wants to be recognized as one, he's just a decent enough person to have morals.

 

“Because I faked my own death? Because I'm a freak who still can't manage to be happy even after I got away from everything I thought was troubling me? Looks like the only problem is me,” he clenches his fists, glaring Xander down.

 

He quickly finds that scaring Xander isn't difficult at all, considering Mia might be just as tall, if not taller, than Xander.

 

“Your turn.”

 

“I,” Xander looks up at him with wide eyes. “Okay, but you have to believe me when I tell you that it was… it was a mistake, I didn't mean to..” he trails off,

 

“What didn't you mean to do?” Connor demands. Xander takes a step back.

 

“I killed someone? But, but it was an accident. I was in a rush, and this guy asked for a bunch of shit. I didn't realize he was going to use all of that on his own child.”

 

There's a stunned silence.

 

“You killed a child,” Connor says aloud, he needs confirmation, needs to make sure he heard that correctly.

 

Xander's looking anywhere but the group of people in front of him.

 

“You.” Mia says, walking up to him.

 

“You're the reason Josh is dead.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rosé sneaks off to the basement, which is fine, because what's suspicious about a random note that definitely wasn't there before telling her to leave the group and go into the basement?

 

Right, everything about that is sketchy, but Rosé really can't bring herself to care much about it.

 

Because she's going to have the information she needs to finally bring a criminal to justice, to give her brother the vengeance he deserves.

 

It hadn't occurred to her that maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as that until she walked in the door slammed shut.

 

She could have sworn that her heart stopped for a moment. Time went funny as she runs towards the door and hit it, trying to force the door open.

 

Why did time have to feel slow and fast all at once?

 

“Please please please don't--”

 

The lights switched on, and a voice played from a few speakers that she figures are all around the room.

 

_“Hello Rosé, today you have been lured here with the promise to get your hands on information you claim to have been searching for for years. Of course, as you and I both know, you are not to be given freely what you search for, you must earn it.”_

 

She feels sick, she's shaking and fuckfuckfuck she's an idiot for ever entertaining the thought of walking in here, getting the information, and getting out of here to share her newfound knowledge with the world.

 

Of course this would be a trap.

 

_“You have worked your family and investigators to the bone, demanding that they do better, that they don't rest until they have found who murdered your beloved brother. However, while you accused everyone around you of giving up, you failed to realize that it was you who had given up long ago, you just didn't accept it, you pushed everyone to their limits to make up for your lack of help. You allowed your life to fall apart around you. You've even made an attempt on your own life, disregarding the knowledge that your family has suffered a tremendous amount of grief after one death. You, Rosé, are selfish beyond belief.”_

 

“Fuck you!” She screams, her voice echoing around the room.

 

She knows there isn't a point in that, she knows that screaming just wastes her time and energy, but she refuses to sit here and listen to someone mocking her life choices.

 

Refuses to let someone call her out on her self destructive habits.

 

Why is she being punished for this? It's not affecting anyone aside from herself.

 

She doesn't believe she deserves to die for it.

 

The voice continues, only seeming to stop for a breath, but definitely not because of Rosé's decision to scream at it.

 

_“Today, you will be reborn, and if you follow the rules, you just might be able to walk out of here to tell the world of your brother's killer. I want to play a game. When I stop talking, you will have as much time as you can manage to break into one of the three glass boxes before you. Each has a key that will unlock one of the three doors before you. Behind one of the doors lies an exit, a folder filled with the information of your greatest enemy, and an antidote to the air you've been breathing in since you have arrived here. The second will lead you to an empty room, where you will be left to rot away. The third does not unlock, and will leave you trapped in here.”_

 

The voice pauses.

 

_“Have I forgotten to mention that the time you have in here is only limited by how much pain you can bring yourself to withstand. Above you, sits gallons worth of acid that will continue to poor on you. The rate of which how much it is to poor is a mystery to both you and I. Why don't we think of it as a rainstorm? Live or die, make your choice.”_

 

The voice that had been filling the room a moment ago stops, leaving her in complete silence.

 

Her heart is practically beating out of her chest, but she doesn't have time to calm herself down, because she hears something click.

 

Then it starts raining.

 

No, not raining, not sprinkling, but _pouring._

 

She screams, running to the door that led her in, and banging on it helplessly, calling out for help.

 

The pouring only gets worse and she can already feel herself getting dizzy.

 

She runs to first glass box in her sight, the one in the middle, and obviously isn't thinking clearly because she doesn't do anything to prevent cutting herself on the glass as she breaks it with her hands.

 

She's dizzy, can feel herself getting light headed as time continues to pass. It's getting into her eyes and her once clear vision is fading to nothing at an alarming rate.

 

The key is slowly falling from her hands, grip weakening while she tries to walk, tries to stumble to what she thinks might be the nearest door.

 

But she isn't sure anymore, because there's acid eating away at her skin and not only is the smell enough to render her unconscious, but the amount of pain she's experiencing is just another thing to add onto it.

 

Her vision's gone. Not blurry, but gone.

 

Her eyes burn.

 

And she can't tell if she's crying because it burns and her eyes are on fire and it's amazing how she's still walking right now.

 

Though, she wouldn't call it a miracle. Right now, death might be easier.

 

But no, not yet, she hasn't given her brother what he deserves yet.

 

She can do this, if not for herself, for him.

 

She extends her arm, thinks she manages to find a handle and tries to insert the key.

 

It doesn't work on this one, and her heart sinks.

 

It had to work, she has to do this.

 

She tries again.

 

And it's not working and maybe if she weren't dying she'd freak out a little more.

 

Maybe if she could see, everything would be fading around the edges.

 

But she can't, she can't see and it's so difficult to breathe and when did she even fall on the floor?

 

Everything's becoming quiet, growing more distant.

 

Her last thought before she feels herself slip away from reality is

 

_“I'm sorry.”_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing JIGSAW.

“Fuck off, I'll set up your traps but if you think I'm psychotic enough to even think of _drugging_ someone-”

 

“Ah-ah! No, don't start this, Connor.” Aria interrupts, shaking her head. “I need a day off, but we need the player in that building soon.”

 

“I don't care about your breaks, I'm not doing this. What if I walked out of this building right now, huh?” He gestures to the device around his neck; some sort of bomb that's set to go off if he wanders too far from here. “There's nothing stopping me from ending it right now. Why don't I test it? See how far I can go before my head fucking explodes? I can try walking home--”

 

“No, they think you're dead.”

 

“That's bullshit, I heard that it takes seven years for a missing person to be declared dead,” he shoots back.

 

“You got me there,” she shrugs. “But I can promise you that getting any more than twenty feet away from this building will ultimately end in you being declared dead over six years ahead of schedule.”

 

Connor only shakes his head, turns around and begins to storm off.

 

“I'll be sure to inform Zoe of your reckless actions leading her to the very position you're in right now within a months time,” she calls out, and Connor stops dead in his tracks. He wastes no time in rushing up to her, bringing a hand to her neck.

 

“Don't threaten my family, Aria. You leave them the hell out of this.”

 

“You can't stop me from doing anything if you're dead,” she informs him.

 

“Don't make me,” Connor says, letting go of her, taking a cautious step back, his voice smaller than it was just a moment ago. Pleading.

 

“I'll be there to help you get him out of there, but you need the experience.”

 

“Yeah, no, I don't exactly plan on doing this for a living.”

 

“Connor, if you want to ensure your family's safety, you'll do this.”

 

There's a pause, and Connor looks so pained and conflicted because he really, really doesn't want to do this.

 

But he also can't be the reason his family has to go through more pain than they already have.

 

“Fuck you,” he mumbles, walking out of the room to grab a mask.

 

* * *

 

 

“Alana!” Amelia calls from her desk, raising her hand up in the air to vaguely gesture in her own general direction in hopes of emphasizing the importance of Alana walking over right now.

 

She hears a sigh, then footsteps.

 

Amelia doesn't bother looking up because she doesn't want to fall behind on this, not right now, not when it's so important and she's starting to feel doubtful towards their situations.

 

“What's up?”

 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to prepare herself mentally for the outburst of anger that's sure to come after she gets done explaining this.

 

“It's.. about the location regarding the group we threw into the nerve gas house? I.. the police ended up solving the puzzle like, insanely fucking quick this time and at this rate, I'm not too sure we'll be able to play fairly if we don't want them interrupting.”

 

Then she shuts her eyes again because she's genuinely convinced that Alana's going to hit her or drug her right then and there and then she'll wake up in a game of her own for not being able to be useful.

 

It never comes and she slowly opens one eye. Alana doesn't seem mad, or even pissed for that matter which is..

 

“Did you give them another hint?”

 

Alana gives her that oh so obviously forced and faked grin, “I was doubtful you'd be able to discover this so quickly and was hoping to delay the announcement. Do your research on Clarice Best and then I'll tell you the plan.”

 

“But, Alana, if this is serious then I think we'd all agree that it'd be safer to act now rather than-”

 

“You need to trust that I know exactly what I'm doing right now, Amelia.” She honestly doesn't know why she bothers to be surprised whenever Alana's fake smile of fakeness manages to become even more forced-- she doesn't know why it still unsettles the ever living fuck out of her nerves. “There's always time for a little game.”

 

She opens her mouth to speak but Alana's already walking out the door, and she figures that's for the best-- everyone here knows that annoying Alana Beck is the exact same thing as asking for a literal fucking death sentence.

 

And she doesn't want that, she's seen the shit Alana has come up with; it's not pretty.

 

She still has a very recent memory of hers from a game that took place just a couple weeks back, where she had to monitor the footage of a man who ended up burning himself alive.

 

It didn't help that Alana decided she wanted to start putting her _audio_ equipment to use.

 

She really wished she could've walked away, but the last time she tried tearing her eyes away from a game when Alana had specifically told her not to do that?

 

Her mom went missing.

 

She doesn't know the whole story, and getting caught trying to look for the information sounds like another tragedy waiting to happen.

 

Alana had told her that it was a murder, that her dad did it because they weren't doing too well.

 

And she hates that it's just that fucking believable, that she had believed for a moment that that was what truly happened. She believed until she realized who exactly she was talking to: The Gamemaster herself: Jigsaw.

 

Well, the person that keeps the whole thing together.

 

Because Jigsaw is actually JIGSAW.

 

She was never told what the entire thing stood for, she's only aware that G is for Gamemaster, I is for intelligence (which is knowledge she's only aware of because Alana had deemed her as such when she first welcomed her on the team two years back.)

 

She's tried figuring it out herself, and she's fairly certain she's gotten most of it down. Most of it, of course, as in: she has absolutely no fucking idea what could stand for W and it drives her mad thinking about it.

 

She'd tried asking Nathaniel about it a while back, but he'd only shrugged and sarcastically responded “waffles” and honestly? Completely fair. Because what the actual _fuck_ starts with a W that happens to be related to all of this?

 

Nothing that she can think of, that's for sure.

 

Speaking of, she should probably check up on the Nerve Gas Pals, and she's deemed them.

 

Amelia has a vague memory of overhearing a conversation between Alana and Aria about retrieving Nathaniel from the room because they needed to get another game in action soon, and Nathaniel was definitely the guy they usually turned to because a lot of the people Alana requested to be placed in games fought back.

 

Nathaniel was one of the members of JIGSAW that wasn't forced into it; one of those people who truly found a thrill in the job.

 

However, she supposes that, in this situation, she’s the minority-- all aside from herself and Connor Murphy had been pressured into this.

 

She still doesn't get why the hell Alana took such an interest in Connor, he has nothing useful to offer to them. All he does is bitch and whine and try to see just how much he can get on Alana's nerves before she makes some threat that she never acts upon.

 

Amelia's smart, she's positive that's why she's here. So, with her formerly mentioned intelligence, she should have absolutely no problem figuring out the whole.. Connor thing.

 

The only thing she knows for sure is, at least Julian doesn't know why he's here either.

 

Aria's, like, Alana's fucking pet, so of course she knows.

 

Nathaniel and Connor had never met, and it wasn't until the Nerve Gas house idea was proposed that she realized why.

 

She rubs at her temples and yawns, giving herself a small lecture about how spacing out is _bad._ She knows it's not her fault she's tired and having trouble keeping her thoughts from wandering absolutely everywhere. She can't remember the last time she slept.

 

There are days when she's refused sleep, and there are others when she just.. can't because the nightmares are too much. It's all too much and she just can't sleep peacefully at night knowing that she's taken some part in the loss of so many lives.

 

She's thought about ending it, about trying to escape all this guilt once and for all, but the lingering fear of Alana finding her and waking up in a game is the only thing that prevents her from trying.

 

She wouldn't say she's all that scared of death, she's just scared of Alana Beck.

 

Amelia shakes her head in an attempt to wake herself up-- it doesn't do much aside from add onto her headache pain, and she can't do much about it so she sighs and looks back at the screen, flipping through the camera feed from the separate rooms in the house.

 

Evan's still asleep, passed out on the floor, and Nathaniel's impatiently pacing around the room. She sort of jumps when he stares directly at the camera, _glares_ at it.

 

She's not up for putting up with Nathaniel when she doesn't have to, so she switches through the cams again. This time, she stops to observe Connor, Xander, Mia, and Trinity. Trinity and Mia are awkwardly standing to the side while Connor speaks to Xander, who seems to nod along and only add his input into whatever's being said occasionally.

 

She frowns, then searches a bit more, because there were a total of seven people in that house who were still alive.

 

Her heart drops when she finally sees it, and she definitely feels light headed.

 

Fuck fuck _fuck_ this is so cruel.

 

She hates that she's a part of the reason that happened.

 

Fuck, she can't even tell who that is anymore Jesus fucking Christ. She pulls up a list and goes through the names, sighing when, after a quick process of elimination, she's determined that Rosé is the poor soul.

 

Amelia knows that Alana's going to have her observe the earlier recorded footage of the game later on, and just thinking about it makes her even more sick.

 

And she knows she's going to get shit for this, but she really, really can't help getting out of her seat and sprinting to the bathroom, where she vomits whatever little she's managed to get into her system.

 

So, crackers and coffee.

 

She's light-headed and now it reeks of vomit and that's all she can taste too.

 

Amelia's already fucked up, so why not go a little further and cry while she's at it?

 

She laughs bitterly at the thought and sniffles.

 

She's exhausted, in more ways than one, in ways that she probably can't even begin to explain. This is all just.. so much.

 

Unfortunately for her, there's a knock on the door, and when she doesn't bother to answer, she's hit with the realization that she'd completely forgotten to lock said door. She isn't given the chance to even get up to try because the next second, Aria's barging into the room, crossing her arms and shutting the door behind her.

 

“Alana wouldn't be too happy with this.”

 

“I..” she starts, and then shakes her head. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“You think she'll enjoy your decision to waste her time?”

 

God, she absolutely hates Aria. She's like, Alana's pet. Therefore, she gets away with just about anything she wants to.

 

She doesn't know what the point is in mentally complaining about the situation she's gotten herself in. It's not like she can go tattling to some teacher and get Alana or Aria in time out of detention or whatever.

 

She can't even go to the fucking police because Alana is always one step ahead of her.

 

“What do you want?” Amelia asks, because the only time Aria seems to acknowledge her is when she wants something from her. She doesn't need to waste any more time.

 

She makes her way to the sink to splash some water on her face and rinse out her mouth while Aria speaks.

 

“What? No, I'm just here to tell you that Alana really wouldn't be happy with.. this.” She grins, tapping a finger to her chin. “Actually, I think I overheard her saying something about us needing to find another player for that Hansen kid's new game? I just so happen to think you're the perfect fit.”

 

“Evan Hansen?” She shakes her head. “Jesus, have you seen him? He's going to fucking lose it if you guys throw him into another one, you know that, right? What's up with him anyways? Why are you two so fixed on fucking him over like, one every month?”

 

Aria rolls her eyes, “He hasn't learned his lesson. Also? Not my fault he decided to follow after Nathaniel.”

 

“Aria, you've gotta be kidding me. Just have Nathan throw him back out there and Connor's little gang will find him eventually.”

 

“Dude, no way that's happening,” she snorts. “Nathaniel knocked him out cold. I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up with brain damage.”

 

“Have you two ever bothered to look at the files I send you regarding family? Because I would like to think that someone who's aware of how much his mom is struggling financially would take it a little easy with the hospital bills.” She snaps.

 

“Hey, no, don't start that. Alana wouldn't be all too happy about hearing about this either. But!” She holds up her hand, and gives her a stupid smug grin. “I actually came here to make a deal with you- so yeah you were right. But knowing your sarcastic ass, I could get more to use against you if I kept talking, and I was definitely correct.”

 

“Fine, I'll listen.”

 

“I need you to set off the nerve gas ahead of schedule.”

 

“Wh- are you kidding? That's like, an instant death sentence from Alana on my end. No way!”

 

“Jeez, Relax. Alana won't do anything if I talk her out of it,” she shrugs.

 

Amelia rubs at her head.

 

Okay, so, the tape they had recorded may have told a tiny little lie- that being that they were breathing in nerve gas.

 

Because, they wanted to play fair and giving them the hope of five hours when, if lucky enough, they'd last just short of an hour.

 

And if they were unlucky enough? 10 minutes.

 

So, they'd decided to hold off on the gas until thirty minutes before the timer went off.

 

She couldn't do that, couldn't set it off early. She needed to be fair. She couldn't.. couldn't let herself do that. Never.

 

It was the least she could do for everyone in that house.

 

She wouldn't gas a ten-year-old just because of some bribe.

 

“Okay, now hear me out,” Aria tries again, cutting through her thoughts. She doesn't want to know how long she'd gone silent, but hey, at least Aria didn't slap her for not even being able to at least _concentrate._ “You set that gas thing off right now, and I'll not only convince Alana to let that kid live his life, but I'll try talking her out of the game designs she's been brainstorming for when she decides that you're not useful to her anymore.”

 

She swears that her heart fucking _stops_ for a moment.

 

“Wait.. you're.. she wouldn't..”

 

“You see what she's done to Connor, haven't you? She wants him gone.”

 

“But Connor isn't-”

 

“Ah-ah!” She frowns, holding out her hand. “I'm trying to make a deal with you. Right now. Take it or leave it.”

 

And fuck.

 

Maybe she is just as bad as everyone here, because she's so absolutely fucking selfish. There are so many people in that house right now and all she's worried about is her own.

 

“Deal,” she says, reluctantly shaking Aria's hand.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's gotta mean we're, like, the first ever people that cops have been able to save on time, right??"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated. Stay safe!

“You're the reason Josh is dead,” Mia speaks. There's not a questioning tone in her voice, but she looks like she needs some sort of clarification, and Connor can't blame her for that.

 

He also makes a mental note to not underestimate a child's intelligence because, fuck, he isn't sure he'd ever be able to guess that.

 

Though, maybe it's the grief speaking, and she's been accusing anyone and everyone she can manage to, and just so happened to get lucky this time around.

 

Xander doesn't respond, he shifts awkwardly on his feet, and Mia starts sobbing.

 

Trinity proves to at least be capable of providing the bare minimum of help by bringing Mia into an embrace and trying to calm her.

 

And Connor is thankful for that because now, at least he won't have to worry about Mia getting in the way.

 

He just..

 

“Fuck!” He shouts, running his hands through his hair. “Fuck that's..” he trails off. He's at a loss for words.

 

He's beginning to realize why exactly Aria tricked him into this, why she felt the need to get rid of him-- he's pretty fucking useless, and even after all this time, he still can't get over.. all of this.

 

Though, he honestly has no fucking clue how anyone could just get.. used to this, how someone could become numb to it all, see it as a normal, everyday occurrence.

 

It's been a year, give or take, and he still has nightmares, still can't _not_ be shocked when he hears this, can't keep himself from throwing up everytime he sees photos, or the aftermath.

 

He can't ignore the guilt he feels, the constant weight on his shoulders, the knowledge that he's part of the reason that so many people are dead.

 

The more he considers it, the more he realizes that he absolutely has no right to be mad at Xander. He's a murderer himself, and it hasn't just been a one-time-oops-i-made-a-huge-fucking-mistake type of thing.

 

So he only nods, then gestures to Trinity.

 

“Care to share your tragic backstory?”

 

Trinity shakes her head, staring at the floor.

 

“Not to be dramatic or anything,” Xander starts. “But we're literally all about to die, might as well have a group therapy session before it happens.”

 

“I know why I'm here!” Mia cuts in, and Connor startles.

 

He really hopes that this ten year old that he's been so careful to watch over hasn't murdered anyone. He _really_ hopes that's not the case.

 

“Yeah?” He responds, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

 

This all just keeps getting worse as the moments pass, and he'd really enjoy something just a little less serious for once.

 

Just once is all he asks.

 

But apparently that's too much to ask.

 

“Dad got really mad at me and told me to leave, and since mom wasn't home to help, I couldn't get away with hiding in my room instead.”

 

Fuck.

 

She's not even done speaking but he doesn't like where this is going.

 

“Last time dad got this mad, he wouldn't let me in the house. He didn't let me eat when he finally unlocked the door,” she sniffles, wipes at her eyes. Connor's really fucking jealous of her ability to hold herself together while talking about this. “I ran away to the park, but I tripped and hit my head.”

 

Then she shrugs, and he guesses that must mean it's the end of the story.

 

He doesn't need her to continue, they all know how it continues.

 

“Fuck I..” he rubs at his head. “What's your dad's name?” He asks, because if he gets out of here he's marching right to this asshole's doorstep and giving him what he deserves.

 

“Mark uh, Fernández? I think he took mom’s last name when they had the wedding. Mom's name didn't change.”

 

A silence settles upon the room, and when he shares a glance with Xander and Trinity, he comes to the conclusion that he's not the only one who finds that name familiar.

 

But they aren't given a chance to discuss how and why they all know this Mark Fernandez dude because the lights shut off and they're engulfed in a darkness.

 

Trinity screams, which causes Mia to start sobbing again. Connor just stands there, holds his arms out and waving them around while he tries to make it to one of the rooms he saw those timer's in.

 

His heart sinks when he sees it.

 

Last time he checked, they had over three hours, and he's absolutely fucking positive that those three hours weren't wasted by the group having some quality bonding time.

 

The clock is red and flashing zeros.

 

He feels dizzy as he tries to make his way out of the room, and trips on something. He blindly tries to reach out for something to grab onto to keep himself from falling, but misses and hits the ground with a thump.

 

“What's going on?” Mia cries.

 

“I.. fuck, what does the timer going off early mean?” Is all he can say.

 

“The.. what??” Trinity gasps. “You're kidding. You're fucking kidding me, right?”

 

“That's not a good joke,” Xander informs him.

 

“What makes you think I find this funny? Now tell me what the fuck happens when the timer stops.”

 

“We should be dead by now, if the tape was correct,” Xander says. “Holy shit, wait, we're not dead. I.. do you think we're safe? Did we survive?”

 

He doesn't give anyone else to respond, he hears moving and then the ground shakes. From what he can gather, Xander is jumping up and down in pure joy.

 

“Not to burst your bubble, but I don't think so. The rules clearly stated we needed an _antidote_.”

 

“Then..” Xander trails off. “That's gotta mean that we're, like, the first ever people the cops have been able to save, right??” There's more stomping, and Xander somehow manages to make it across the hall without stepping on anyone. “Here! We're up here!” He calls out.

 

There's a significantly less disruptive pitter-patter of feet and he has to guess that it's Mia. She makes her way over to Xander's direction and starts calling out, too.

 

“Please help us!” Mia starts, “Please-” she's interrupted with coughing. “Please help!” She manages, and it's weaker and _that's_ what makes Connor panic.

 

He knew something wasn't right, and he's admittedly, kind of pissed that Xander didn't believe him.

 

“Dude, I just got-- really dizzy, holy shit.” Xander says.

 

“Me too,” Trinity responds.

 

“Shit- I, I'll see if I can find a cure, we're definitely running out of time.”

 

The response he receives is more coughing and then vomiting coming from Trinity's direction.

 

He stands on shaking legs, blindly walking through the hall and if what he thinks is the direction of the stairs. He manages a couple steps (by skipping enough on his first step to nearly giving him a fucking heart attack.)

 

And that's when the headache and tightness in his chest starts.

 

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, speeding up and gripping onto the stair railing a little tighter, trying to ignore how much it fucking hurts to _breathe_ and how exhausted he feels.

 

He takes a couple more steps then loses his consciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

 _“I want to play a game,”_ the TV states, and Evan bites back a sarcastic remark, because that much was obvious, thank you very much.

 

There's a flick, and then the entire room goes from ridiculously dark to hospital bright in a second. He takes a moment to rub at his eyes and blink rapidly. He's at least thankful that whoever records these had the decency to wait before continuing.

 

His eyes are still watery, but he's not rubbing at them and blinking so much that it gives him a headache, so it's good enough.

 

 _“On the shelf to your left lies three needles and a map. Today, you will be presented with two different options: you can take the map and run, or you can take the needles and play hero._ ”

 

Huh, a choice. He can work with this.

 

_“Twenty minutes ago, the entire house was gassed. That being said, the moment you open that door, you will be exposed to it. Depending on how strong you are, you might have more time than necessary to do whatever you so please, or you might fail just short of it. I will warn you that the house is more complex than you might believe, and either option you choose will prove to be difficult.”_

 

 _“I believe the map is self-explanatory: you take it and run, make it out of the house, go home, and never be bothered again. There's no more and no less to that._ ”

 

Evan frowns. He doesn't care what the tape tells him-- that sounds sketchy.

 

Then again, what about this entire situation isn't?

 

 _“If you so choose to resort to using the needles, it's important to note that two of them contain the antidote to the gas, and the other will induce a heart attack on whoever you decide to inject with it. You may use the needles as you so please, whether it be on yourself. Keep in mind that deciding to help someone out will result in you wasting most of the time your body will allow to continue._ ”

 

Evan wants to cry.

 

_“So, what will it be, Evan Hansen? Will you prove to be selfish or are you willing to risk your life in exchange for saving two others? The choice is yours.”_

 

The TV shuts off and Evan runs at his eyes, then closes them and clenches his fists. He takes several very deep breaths before making his way over to the counter.

 

He knows what he's going to do.

 

So, he grabs the needles and takes one last deep breath before opening the door and speed walking out.

 

The house is dark, and he's having trouble navigating it because of that and the amount of focus being put into _not breathing._

 

He's getting dizzy from lack of air, so he finally inhales and tries to keep himself from crying.

 

His timer has finally begun. But he has a say in it this time, he's going to do this. He has to.

 

He trips on a body and comes tumbling to the ground, scraping his elbow on the floor and nearly dropping the needles. He lets out a yelp and then gasps when he realizes that he's inhaled too early, and has to restrain himself from doing it again when he realizes his second mistake.

 

He stays on the ground, crawling in the direction of the person he's just stepped on and waving his arm out to get a feel of them. When he finally does, he feels for skin, then takes one of the needles in his hands and jabs them with it.

 

Then he continues moving on, because he can't blame himself if that happened to be the deadly one.

 

It's all a gamble and he hates it.

 

But he can live with a little bit more guilt for a while longer.

 

The person was by the stairs, he gets on all fours and tries to ignore how absolutely fucking ridiculous he might look while he tries to clamber his way up.

 

He's getting dizzy, so he takes another breath; it doesn't help to get rid of said dizziness.

 

He runs into another person, and during his attempt to feel out for them, he notices a second.

 

The second person is smaller and he realizes it's Mia. He doesn't bother to stop the sob the escapes him as he jabs her and whoever happens to be next to her with a needle.

 

That's when he finally allows himself to breathe.

 

His eyes are watering and he's more unstable on his feet, but he walks around anyways, and that's when he bumps into a fourth person.

 

He sits down next to them, feels out for their hand, squeezes it and allows himself to cry.

 

“I'm sorry I couldn't give you a chance.”

 

He's shaking, he's dizzy, his nose is running, and every breath he takes burns his lungs.

 

But he's okay with that.

 

He's pretty sure he wasn't meant to survive this, anyways. There was a reason he was brought into this a second time, right?

 

He's already had his second chance, he doesn't deserve a third.

 

Evan swears he sees a light somewhere off in the distance before he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evan's game/test is inspired by Chain Hangers from Jigsaw along with a scrapped game idea for Trinity.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of trust.

Percy is rewatching a tape they'd found at one of the game locations they managed to find a few months back.

 

Yes, a few months back. Since then, two others have been suspected to take place. Eight people had been reported missing.

 

And that's not a good sign. Not that it ever was, but-- with this whole Jigsaw thing? It's worse.

 

The tape he's watching is watching the tape from a very gruesome crime scene; just thinking of the pictures and videos he'd seen makes him want to throw up.

 

They had all collectively decided to call it  _ The Pendulum _ because that's what it was. A pendulum. Of course, only difference being was that there was a blade at the end and a victim strapped to a table beneath it.

 

He doesn't know how much he's rewatched they tapes they've managed to recover, honestly.

 

He just.. keeps watching and analyzing and praying he'll get some sort of hint as to who's behind all of this.

 

It's a dangerous job, and he knows it. He's painfully aware that, the closer he gets to discovering the truth, the more danger his life happens to be in. He's seen good people go missing and never come back, only to be discovered in some run down building and another fucked up creation.

 

He's painfully aware of all of this because his previous partner had been one to the unfortunate few to face the consequences of rightfully bringing them to justice. It took two and a half months to figure out it was her, and another one month just to figure out how to recover the body.

 

His partner had been put in a room where the walls closed in on her. She was crushed to death.

 

She had always told him that she had really fucking bad claustrophobia. He hopes that something killed her before she was slowly crushed.

 

Ever since then, he's been so, so fucking scared of entering buildings. He's had plenty of nightmares that started out so normally, and then the walls decided to close in slowly.

 

They stopped when he decided that he was only going to sleep in 30 minute intervals. He knows it's a terrible decision for his overall well-being, but he reasons that it's better than getting no sleep at all. He can live with this. He can live with this until he finds out who's behind it all. He can do this until he manages to give justice to his partner.

 

It's the least he can do, really.

 

He knows she deserves so much more than that, but.. fuck.

 

It's difficult to do all of this when he has to keep all of it to himself, when he can't risk voicing his findings to anyone because it's hard to trust anyone. He can't risk his findings getting to Jigsaw.

 

Surprise is the only upper hand he's got. Other than that? He's no match to this unknown force.

 

So he'll do this alone, run on the bare minimum amount of sleep, eat as little as he can, keep everything to himself.

 

He can do it. He can't die until he proves that he's worth something.

 

It seems he had somehow managed to space out while giving himself his daily mental motivation speech, because when he zones back in, he notices some sort of weird message on his screen.

 

It's an address.

 

He frowns, grabs a pen and scribbles it on a sticky note, shoves it in his pocket and tries to look back at the video.

 

It looks like the same he's been repeating countless times, the same that he's watched so many times that he could probably recite it word by word.

 

But the audio is different and it makes his heart feel like it's stopped and started racing at once.

 

_ “Hello Percy. I want to play a game.” _

 

He truly can't think of anyone aware of who Jigsaw is that  _ wouldn't  _ feel sick after hearing that, Jesus.

 

_ “You have just been provided with an address, to which you will be thrilled to hear is the location you need to go if you have hopes of saving a group of people. I will, however, say that there is a price you must be willing to pay.” _

 

Of course, because in Jigsaw's world, nothing can be earned without some great sacrifice, right?

 

_ “You may not inform anyone else of your discovery, doing so will lead to major consequences that you and I both know would be something you are unable to cope with. More instructions await you there, be sure to leave all weapons and communication devices in your vehicle. I'll know if you fail to comply.” _

 

And that's

 

That's the end of the video.

 

He tries to play it again, but the monitor goes wonky for a second and then he's watching the video from earlier again.

 

He takes the post-it note from his pocket, grabbing his phone from its position on his desk and entering the address into Google maps.

 

It's a one hour drive, and he knows this game has to be ongoing, knows that the longer he takes to make a decision will only decrease these people's survival rate.

 

Percy grabs a notepad from his desk and scribbles the location inside, closes it, puts it back into his desk and sighs.

 

If he goes missing, he hopes they'll be smart enough to look through there, he wants to know that, at the very least, someone will find his body.

 

This is it.

 

He stands from his desk and keeps his phone there, deciding that he'll keep the radio in the car just in case.

 

He wonders if he can manage to sneak at least, like, a knife there.

 

But he doesn't risk it, he leaves that there too.

 

He walks out of the building and into his car, sets up his GPS and starts driving.

 

It isn't until about five minutes later that he realizes there's someone following him-- well, not just  _ anyone _ , he had noticed her leave the station around the same time he did earlier on, but decided not to think much of it. But now? This.. this is weird.

 

He kind of hopes this doesn't end up being a worst-case-scenario thing. He really doesn't want to think that Clarice Best works undercover for Jigsaw too.

 

He hates that he can't rule that possibility out.

 

He makes some sort of awkward eye contact with her through the rear-view mirror, and he thinks she looks just as lost and confused as he feels.

 

Or maybe he just hopes she does.

 

He sighs, continues driving, decides to ignore it because he's seen what happens when people decide that they don't need to abide by rules.

 

It doesn't matter if he doesn't like them, he has to follow whatever rules are given to him if he plans on getting out of there alive.

 

When he gets there, Clarice is still behind him, parking right next to his vehicle too. He takes his time with disarming himself, and when he looks up, he sees Clarice standing right in front of his car, arms crossed.

 

He sighs.

 

“Why are you are?” They blurt out at the same time, and he might have found it a little funny if he wasn't on some life threatening mission right now.

 

Clarice looks around, then she speaks up when she seems to decide it's safe to speak, “I got a message notifying me I needed to come here, and you?”

 

“I got a message too,” he pauses, then leans in so she can hear him when he quietly asks, “Jigsaw?”

 

Clarice nods, and he sighs, runs a hand through his hair. This is confusing.

 

“Did it tell you to come alone, too?”

 

She nods again, he frowns.

 

“Then why did he..”

 

“They,” Clarice corrects. “Despite what the media thinks, we still have not confirmed Jigsaw's identify, and even then, I don't think one person could do this all on their own.”

 

Percy just stares at her for a second I silence.

 

Looks like he wasn't the only one doing research on Jigsaw.

 

And it also looks like even the almighty Clarice Best failed to hide that from Jigsaw.

 

“Right, sorry?”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” she shrugs, then points towards the door of the building. “Guess we're partners for this one, wanna head inside and get this over with?”

 

He needs a second to respond because, fuck, this is all happening so ridiculously fast. The drive here wasn't long enough to let him process his thoughts. He should've called his family or something before this.

 

He can only imagine how absolutely panicked people who  _ wake up  _ in traps and have like, one minute to get their act together must feel.

 

“Yeah,” he chokes out, his voice high and squeaky and honestly? Seeing how unaffected Clarice is by all of this is suspicious.

 

He makes sure she goes inside first, not because he wants to be an ass, but because he's genuinely convinced that Clarice works with Jigsaw, and the moment she gets the chance to, she'll drug him and he'll wake up in a game.

 

He doesn't want that, he really, really doesn't want that.

 

The moment he shuts the door and flick on the lights, that's when everything starts to  _ really  _ go downhill.

 

There's this sort of metal encasing that covers the windows and doors immediately, and the lights shut off, encasing the two of them in complete darkness.

 

There's the sound of laughter and a wheel turning in a faraway hall, and he backs up as far as he can into the wall. He doesn't want to be anywhere near it.

 

The lighting is soon replaced by the obnoxious flashing of a couple red lights on the roof, that illuminates a very tiny figure that he thinks is fucking riding into the room on a  _ bike. _ The laughing doesn't stop.

 

It stops, and that's when both he and Clarice both seem to collectively decide that it's safe to slowly but surely inching towards the thing. Not too long before he realizes that it's that  _ puppet  _ thing that shows itself in all the videos.

 

That's creepy as hell.

 

“There's a note,” he says, grabbing at it, squinting and trying to ignore the oncoming headache he can feel that is almost certainly being caused by the flashing lights. “All it says it ‘basement.’”

 

“Then that's where we go,” Clarice responds confidently, then she turns around in a bit of an awkward circle and heads off in what she must think the direction of the basement is-- and it turns out that she's a pro at this because, soon enough, they're taking slow and cautious steps down some stairs.

 

He kind of hates that, despite how terrifying this Jigsaw character is, he-- er, they, all least follow the rules; he hates that he kind of trusts some psychotic serial killer with his life.

 

He accidentally skips a step or two now and then and he nearly cries.

 

But, that'd be.. really embarrassing to start weeping like a baby just because he missed a few fucking steps when he's quite literally on what might be most accurately categorized, as, well, a suicide mission.

 

He reaches solid ground, but is still  _ very  _ worried about more steps ahead, so he puts a hand against the wall while he tries to feel around the ground with his foot. When he finally decides that he isn't going to break his ankle or lose his balance and faceplant into the ground and break his nose or something.

 

He walks and walks until he walks directly into the wall, which actually turns out to be a wall.

 

They really should've come with flashlights, that would've made this at least a tiny bit easier.

 

But that's okay, he's totally cool with walking into walls and sacrificing his pride if it means he can save someone.

 

He reaches for the door handle and opens it, and of course  _ that's  _ when the lights turn on.

 

Percy blinks, rubbing at his eyes before looking around the room, he sees Clarice, still by the stairs, right next to the light switch.

 

“You could've waited,” she says blankly.

 

“No, we don't have time. There are people  _ dying _ , Clarice.”

 

“Yeah? Well if you don't slow the fuck down, we're not only going to lose whoever's in this building, but our lives too,” she snaps. “Do you really want to die for nothing?”

 

He doesn't respond because he knows she's right.

 

This time, he takes a cautious step into the room in front of him and feels around the wall around the door until he finds the light switch.

 

He steps back in shock, bumping backwards into Clarice, and he'd apologize to her if he didn't feel so.. disgusted.

 

In the middle of the room sits a body that lacks skin and.. plenty of other things that a human body should definitely have.

 

Actually, it's so fucked that he's honestly not too sure if what he's looking at  _ is  _ human.

 

At least Clarice has the decency to gag when she finally sees the..

 

Should he even call that a body? Jesus.

 

He knows they need to investigate that, they need to identify the body and the scratch marks on the door and everything about this.

 

But there could be more people here.

 

So he makes his way into the room until he finds the stairs that go upwards, holding his breath the entire way because the whole room reeks of something that's definitely going to kill off all of his brain cells if he inhales it.

 

“Fuck, this would've made everything easier earlier,” Clarice calls out, and he looks back at her to see she has a flashlight in her hand.

 

Great. That's.. it's not exactly the one thing he'd like to have most right now, but it's probably the best they'll get, so he'll settle-- not that he's complaining, not at all. A flashlight is good. He's got a feeling that the rest of this.. house? Whatever they're in, doesn't have working lights-- or whoever designed this whole thing didn't  _ want  _ them to have the privilege of working lights. Same difference.

 

He lets Clarice take the lead again. She looks like she knows what she's doing.

 

But before they leave the room, she stops, then points to the wall, which has a clock flashing zeros.

 

“We might be too late,” she says, and there's this sort of hopelessness in her voice. He never thought that anyone would witness that-- never thought it was possible for  _ the  _ Clarice to sound and look so defeated.

 

But that's when he notices this sort of silent hope in her eyes, and it encourages him to keep going.

 

They can do this.

 

They must have a shot at doing this if Jigsaw sent them here.

 

They have to have.

 

Or else he's going to have to watch those tapes another thousand times.

 

This time, they enter the next room side by side, Clarice with the flashlight in her hand.

 

The both of them jog over to a body they spot by another set of stairs, and Clarice leans over to check his.. her? Their? (The long hair's throwing him off) pulse.

 

He swears that she nearly jumps in joy, and he can hear both excitement and shock in her voice when she speaks up, “Oh my god, he's alive.”

 

“Shit, you're kidding?”

 

“I'm not,” she pauses, “Let's get him out of here first, and then we'll look for anyone else, sound like a plan?”

 

“Perfect.”

 

He's finally saving people from this.

 

He's finally becoming the hero he's dreamed of becoming.

 

And maybe, just maybe, he's a little closer to discovering Jigsaw's identify.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to ask questions or give constructive criticism! I hope you have a great day!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm Amelia, and you're Connor Murphy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated again, they are a bit of a spoiler but please stay safe!

He wakes up.

 

He.. he what?

 

...He wakes up?

 

Connor blinks. Then blinks again.

 

Then he moves his arms out in front of him and winces when the IV in his arm causes some stinging pain-- a pain that still isn't enough to convince him that he isn't dreaming, that he's still alive.

 

He's in a hospital, he realizes, then frowns, because that doesn't sound right. He was positive he was going to die. He had to have. He remembers feeling dizzy while walking down the  _ stairs _ , and then the rest was history.

 

Connor genuinely believed that that was it, and had come to accept that. It shouldn't matter if he died right now, he was already the missing kid that everyone suspected was dead, his family had already moved on. His death wouldn't have been a loss.

 

And maybe, it would have been better to die there, because then it wouldn't have endangered his family, and the threat wouldn't be constantly held above his head. It really would have been better for everyone, and he knows that.

 

He doesn't know why he's so surprised when he finally notices the women in the corner, hands cupped over her mouth and eyes wide and sparkling with tears.

 

It's his mom.

 

He doesn't know how long she's been standing there, and he can't really be bothered to worry about how terribly his head seems to be functioning right now because he only processes a couple things: the first being that he's thankful his mom gave him the chance to notice her and didn't just suffocate him in a hug immediately-- he has no doubt in his mind that that would have ended terribly. Being pulled into the whole Jigsaw thing had left him constantly on edge and ready to harm anything that might cause harm to his safety.

 

The next thing he thinks is something he voices, “Why are you here?”

 

“Connor, Connor honey, you're alive,” is all she says, and her voice is shaking and there's this sort of weight that implants itself deep inside his chest.

 

He's missed her. He's missed her so fucking much that it hurts. He spent so much time believing that he'd never speak to his family again, never get to apologize for everything he's done, yet here he is.

 

It's sickening to think that all he's been through really has changed him for the better. It hurts to admit to himself that, no matter how cruel all of this was, Jigsaw's plans had worked.

 

He has this new appreciation for his life and family.

 

He doesn't realize he's crying until Cynthia hugs him a little tighter and starts repeating to him that he's okay, that she's missed him and she loves him and she's so, so happy she gets to see him again.

 

“I'm sorry,” he gasps, because that's on his list of priorities, that's what she deserves to hear after all this time. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

 

“Connor, honey, no. It's okay, I.. the police are trying to fix it, okay? They want to talk to you, do you think you can do that?”

 

He shakes his head. He wants to rest. He wants to trick himself into believing that it's all over now, that he's safe and can finally rest as long as he fucking wants.

 

And it's working. His eyelids are heavy and his head kind of hurts and the bed is really, really fucking comfortable right now.

 

“That fine, I'll tell them to come and check tomorrow, okay?”

 

That still sounds too early, but he nods. Arguing is the last thing on his mind right now.

 

Cynthia turns to leave and she's got her hand on the door knob when he finally manages to yell out an, admittedly weak, “Wait.”

 

She pauses and looks at him expectantly, patiently. He's forgotten what kindness feels like.

 

“What about..” he coughs, then shakes his head to try and wake himself up. “What about everyone else?”

 

His heart sinks when he sees how quickly the joy on her face just.. disappears. He kind of regrets asking, but he has to know.

 

There were people in that house who deserved another chance, and he's going to fucking lose it if he ended up being the only survivor.

 

But even so, he's seen worse, heard of worse, caused worse. He needs to fucking know what happened to everyone else before the curiosity devours him whole. He's tired of being left in the dark.

 

“There was a little girl..” she starts, and he kind of wishes that he would've stayed quiet and  _ let  _ himself slowly lose it. If Cynthia is starting with Mia, then this can't be good. “She was dead when they found her. That's all I know.” She shakes her head solemnly.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head and blinking rapidly. “What about everyone else?”

 

“I don't know. I only know of the little girl because of Evan's mom,” then she offers a weak smile. “Your friend Evan is.. Heidi told me that he wasn't in very good shape.”

 

Connor only nods, because that's all he can bring himself to do right now, he should be thankful he can even manage that much. Cynthia stands there a while longer before leaving again. He finally allows himself to start crying again because.. fuck.

 

Mia, the most innocent person of the entire group there, is dead.

 

He doesn't know when he falls asleep, or what time it is when he wakes up.

 

All he knows is that it's late and there's someone sitting in the corner of the room.

 

And he winces, because he's defenseless and tired and of course it was too good to be true.

 

“Calm down,” the sketchy fucker in the corner says.

 

“Get the fuck out, I'll start screaming, there's gotta be someone to stop you.”

 

“Scream and you'll have a missed opportunity,” she warns.

 

“To what? Hurt people? Fuck off. Get out of my life,” he snaps.

 

The woman stands up and makes her way over to his bed, and he mentally prepares himself to be injected with whatever the fuck they put into those needles and to wake up again with Aria laughing in his face.

 

But that doesn't happen, all she does is extend her hand towards him, “I'm Amelia, and you're Connor Murphy.”

 

That sends alarm bells off in his head, and he sits up abruptly. He knows it's, like, really fucking stupid to rip and IV out of his arm and he still has no idea why people do it in movies but he thinks it's a little justified to do it because he doesn't want to go back he can't he can't not again please-

 

But when he reaches to grab it, Amelia grabs his hand to stop him, and she's looking at him like he should be locked up in the psych ward and that's completely and utterly fair, he thinks.

 

“Listen, I don't have much time, but yeah, I work for Jigsaw-” he opens his mouth, to speak, and she interrupts. He notes that she looks like she's growing increasingly more panicked. “But! You do too, and I think we both have something in common.”

 

“And what's that?”

 

“You and I both want Jigsaw dead.”

 

He frowns, his eyes darting around the room. This is.. sketchy.

 

Then again, everything he's gotten involved in as of late has been sketchy as fuck, so.

 

“Pretty sure there are plenty of people who do. We aren't special.”

 

“Yes we are,” she rolls her eyes, “We both have connections to Jigsaw, we both want to leave, but we both live under a constant threat.”

 

She reaches into her purse, and he still completely expects to be jabbed in the neck are shot or stabbed but instead of a weapon, she pulls out an envelope and hands it to him.

 

“I know you don't trust me, but this needs to stop, and I can't do that alone.”

 

“Then talk to literally anyone else about it-” he starts, but she walks out the door and he's alone again.

 

He doesn't trust that. He doesn't  _ want  _ to trust that. He wants to be free from all of this, distance himself from this whole place.

 

But he knows that wouldn't stop Jigsaw.

 

He also doesn't think that the pure fear and panic Amelia seemed to be vibrating could be faked, not even by someone as good at faking emotions as Aria is.

 

Connor looks down at the envelope, debates the consequences of ripping it up into a million tiny pieces and flushing it down the toilet.

 

But, he can't do that.

 

This could be their only chance to bring Jigsaw down, and if really isn't a task that can be done alone.

 

He has to at least look at what the fuck Amelia gave him, he has to consider this.

 

At one point, Jigsaw might have had a very solid point, very well thought out ideas and reasonings behind everything that they did.

 

But Jigsaw took the life of a child, and he can't let that slide.

 

He has to look at this, and not just for Mia's sake.

 

Connor tears the envelope open, and pulls out the two papers stuffed inside.

 

On one, contains four digits.

 

The other is a handwritten note that reads,  _ 'Further instructions await for you on your laptop. _ ’

 

He sighs. It's kind of frustrating to think that he has to wait until he's back at home, or until he can coax someone into bringing his old laptop to him. (He kind of can't believe that his parents hadn't, like, sold it.)

 

But it's smart, he reminds himself. He's in a hospital right now, and places to hide shit like that are very limited.

 

And he's sure that Amelia was aware that there is still a very real possibility of a JIGSAW member coming in to harass him, and it worries him that Amelia managed to sneak into the room.

 

He was supposed to be safe from _just_ _that_ , and now with the fear of someone coming in to take him back, he doesn't want to go back to sleep.

 

But he doesn't seem to get a say in that, he can feel himself dozing off shortly after and he knows it's an impossible battle without the help of caffeine, and that the only motivators he has for trying to fight sleep off are his fear of Jigsaw and his constant nightmares, but even that doesn't seem like enough.

 

And it isn't long before he's out like a light.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me everything you know about Jigsaw."

Percy sighs, anxiously taking another glance at his watch and taking a sip from the coffee in his hand.

 

He shouldn't be drinking coffee right now, he's had like, three cups already and he's practically vibrating.

 

But three cups obviously isn't enough to wake his mind up, so he shrugs to himself and takes another drink.

 

He hasn't slept for two days, and is 100% willing to keep it like that until he dies. He really doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to have to go through his lovely mind having him relive the heartbreaking moment that they found Mia Fernández, a ten year old girl, dead.

 

If it had been literally anyone else there that they discovered to be dead, he just might have been able to cope with it a little better. Just maybe.

 

He's sitting in the hospital waiting room next to Clarice, who has someone managed to fall asleep in the chair she's sitting in. He doesn't know how she's managed to fall asleep after this whole fiasco and look so calm and not at all bothered while sleeping, he'd ask her for her secrets if he wasn't positive such a stupid question would end with him getting smacked upside the head because why the fuck can't he, the Jigsaw enthusiast, get over this?

 

Well, he knows the answer to that, because he's had a lot of time to think and will continue to have plenty to spare for useless thinking for as long as he can before his body decides its had enough and just crashes.

 

Seeing it in person is so, so different from watching it through a screen.

 

Yes, seeing the pictures and videos have always left him feeling a bit startled, but it's nothing compared to having to see all of the brutality in person, to have to smell a rotting corpse and pick up a ten year old child that isn't breathing and get the body to safety.

 

Because at that point, it was far too late. The least they could do by then was just.. make sure the body got out in good condition so the family could have a proper funeral.

 

That wasn't the only shock they had, though. 

 

It turned out that the first person they dragged out of there was none other than Connor Murphy himself- the kid that everyone put so much effort and time into looking for because Larry Murphy is a terrifying person.

 

When they first came to him saying that they had no trace of where he went, half of the department had, soon enough, ended up with no jobs.

 

Percy has no idea how he managed to get so.. lucky, it seemed that Larry had been picking names out of a fucking hat to decide on whose life he was going to ruin because they couldn't find his child. Because, despite all of them collectively working their asses off, they “weren’t trying hard enough.”

 

He's been wondering if the people who lost their jobs would receive another shot at their jobs now that Connor was here, but he highly doubted that. Just because they found him doesn't make up for how much time it took to do just that-- still, it’s nice to hope, right?

 

He rests his face into his hands, and makes a note to himself for at least the fourth time today to pick up some painkillers when he finally decides that he needs a break from this whole hospital setting-- well, actually, he already knows he needs a break from it, it’s more of a matter of when he decides that maybe taking care of himself and listening to his own personal needs is more important than he makes it out to be.

 

But he keeps putting it off, keeps telling himself that he’ll do it later, wills himself to ignore the very prominent headache that is slowly but surely evolving into the world's worst headache.

 

Sarah worked herself to the bone. Back when she was alive, Percy was the one who took to worrying about her and providing her with painkillers and coffee and water because hydration is important.

 

Clarice isn’t him, though, and she sure as hell isn’t Sarah, either.

 

It’s really irresponsible to pin the blame of his poor physical health on someone else, anyways. It’s his responsibility. So, that means if he wants to down an entire gallon of coffee within twenty-four hours instead of taking the time out of his day to at least settle for a short nap, then he’s going to do just that.

 

Sure, he’s absolutely not going to in the best shape or state of mind when the victims of the trap deemed as the  _ Nerve Gas House  _ decide they’re finally ready to get these interviews over with, but he assures himself with a reminder that they sure as hell aren’t going to be in the best shape ever. Maybe they can all bond over their instability. He snorts.

 

He looks up when he hears a door open, and close shortly after, and he’s met with Cynthia Murphy, wife of the infamously terrifying Larry Murphy-- he can't help but wonder what the two of them were like back when they were younger, wonders why someone as kind and worrisome as Cynthia fell in love with Larry Murphy.

 

“What can I help you with?” he finally asks when he confirms to himself that she is, indeed, making her way towards him. He stands from his seat and ignores the faint dizzy feeling he experiences

 

“Connor said he’s ready to talk,” she says, smiling sadly, and then her eyes start watering again. Then she’s crying again, and he feels bad for getting kind of annoyed with it. Like, what the actual fuck? This woman has a completely valid reason to be so overly emotional. Her son that went missing for over a  _ year  _ just made a surprise appearance back into her life after barely surviving a Jigsaw trap, of all things.

 

Percy isn’t the best when it comes to dealing with other people’s emotions, so he’s at a sort of loss for what to do despite this happening multiple times. After a second of his own sort of personal panic, he eventually settles for putting a hand on her shoulder.

 

And, fun fact, Percy certainly is  _ not  _ a hugger, so when Cynthia decides to take the very awkward gesture as an invitation to hug him and cry into his shoulder, his discomfort levels instantly reach the  _ sky  _ but he doesn’t do anything about it, and even manages to will himself to hug her back.

 

He doesn’t know how much time passes when she finally stops hugging him, all he knows is that he’ll probably let go of his plan to just live and breathe coffee in this very hospital until he dies, because a nap would absolutely help with the headache that’s managed to go up on the pain scale from a 6/10 to to a 12.

 

“Sorry,” she says, wiping at her eyes and sniffling. She looks embarrassed, and he once again gives himself a brief mental lecture to not complain about her crying because she  _ has a perfectly valid reason and if he couldn’t handle putting up with other people’s emotions he shouldn’t have chosen this as a profession. _

 

He only nods to her and tries for a smile, gesturing towards the door leading to the hospital room, “You said Connor was ready was talk?”

 

“Oh,” she looks dumbfounded, as if she’d forgotten that that was the very reason she came out here, she nods, then she looks over to Clarice, who is still sound asleep, and he hopes he manages to communicate some sort of silent ‘thank you’ to her because he had genuinely forgotten about her.

 

Percy sighs, reaching out to gently grab her by the shoulder and shake her awake.

 

He thinks this is the first time he’s ever managed to regret one of his choices so quickly after said decision was made, and he’s sure that it won’t be a mistake that he makes again because he absolutely does not enjoy how she goes from sleeping as peacefully as a baby to, like, a war soldier who’s constantly on edge. Clarice grabs his arm firmly and suddenly, standing up to twist it behind his back.

 

“Holy- okay, okay, won’t do that again,” he sputters out, and Clarice releases the grip she has on his arm. 

 

Clarice doesn’t even bother apologizing, she just turns to face Cyntia, whose face is displaying a mixture of confusion and shock. He’s kind of jealous of how quickly Clarice managed to wake up, and he’s slowly but surely beginning to realize why she receives so much praise for her work-- it’s because she’s just as good, if not better, as everyone makes her out to be,

 

“Mrs. Murphy,” she starts, extending her arm for a handshake, “I’d like to apologize for that, may I ask what I can do to help you?”

 

“Connor Murphy is ready for us to ask about his situation,” he cuts in.

 

“Right, of course,” she nods. “Do you mind bringing us to him?” he watches as she pulls out a notepad from her vest, along with a pen. He can tell from a brief glance that she already has her questions scribbled down.

 

Cynthia leads them down the hall and to an elevator, where they all wait in a collectively awkward silence until the doors open and she directs them to a room. He reaches for the handle, but before he can push open the door, Cynthia holds her hand in front of him.

 

“Be careful with him, okay? He.. he isn’t saying much, but he’s been through a lot,” her voice breaks, and then she’s crying again. Thankfully, larice is the one to step in to help comfort her.

 

Jeez, Clarice Best really is the best at her job.

 

Clarice even manages to help her calm down faster than earlier, and she pulls back from the hug she’d pulled Cynthia into to put a firm hand on her shoulder, “We’ll do what we can. We’ve agreed that, if h doesn’t seem ready yet, we can wait.”

 

The two of them actually had not agreed on that, but it’s not something he’s going to argue with, mainly because it’s more of a common sense thing to do rather than some “wow i’m doing you a favor” shazzam.

 

She nods, and Clarice briefly knocks on the door before she actually bothers to walk in, and he absolutely can not believe he nearly forgot to do that, he really needs sleep.

 

They’re greeted with a horrifyingly thin teenager with  _ long  _ hair. The pictures that they had of him about a year back showcased him with hair that reached his shoulders, and he’s guessing that Connor hadn’t been given the chance to get a haircut since he went missing because it really is  _ that  _ long.

 

“Clarice Best,” Clarice speaks up, taking a seat in the chair next to the hospital bed; leaving Percy to stand.

 

Connor just kind of shrugs and lazily sits up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes.

 

He looks.. Terrible. There are bags under his eyes that are so prominent he believes no amount of sleep would, no matter how much, is ever going to get rid of them.

 

Also, has he mentioned how  _ thin  _ Connor looks?

 

Sure, he’d definitely noticed it while carrying Connor out of the death room/house thing, but he’d seen enough pictures to have expected that-- but, paying attention to his weight wasn’t exactly his priority back then. So, yeah, he totally has a reasonable excuse for not realizing that this kid is somehow thinner than he was before he went missing. Which is.. It’s saying a lot, it really is.

 

“You already know who I am,” Connor says, and his voice is so weak it makes him visibly cringe. He knows it doesn’t go unnoticed when he sees that, not only is Clarice glaring at him, but so is Connor, who thankfully doesn’t seem like he can be bothered to say anything about it.

 

“Right,” clarice nods, then proceeds to look down at the notepad in her hand. “We’re just going to ask you a few questions. We know some of them are things you might not be able to recall or even want to talk about, and we understand that, but any and all information you can provide will help us out.”

 

“Yeah, hurry up,” is all he says, and Percy can see that Connor’s attitude isn’t something that Clarice is appreciating, and he watches as she visibly takes in a deep breath to probably keep herself from snapping at him.

 

He can’t help but feel a little impressed; Connor really just managed to tear down Clarice’s very well practiced composure and they hadn’t even been in there for five minutes. He wonders if she actually has taken a bigger emotional toll from the whole incident than he originally believed, she’s just better at hiding it.

 

Of course, the makes.. Way more sense Jesus, he’s an idiot.

 

“Do you remember the night you went missing?”

 

“No,” Connor answers immediately, and he sounds nervous. Clarice sighs, then nods ,scribbling something down before looking back up at him.

 

“Right, okay, can you describe what happened to you while you were gone?”

 

Connor sighs, his mouth opens and closes, and he looks like he’s either struggling to find the right words or just doesn’t want to speak about it, and he can’t blame him, because if their assumptions of the whereabouts of Connor Murphy, then he has no doubt in his mind that the whole thing was traumatizing.

 

“Jigsaw.”

 

Clarice nods, “And can you elaborate on that?”

 

Connor opens his mouth, and he watches as his frustrated eyes switch from that to this sort of sadness that makes his heart twist. Connor looks at his lap and shakes his head, “I can’t.”

 

He thinks he imagines the brief frustration that passes on Clarice’s face, because when he blinks, it’s gone.

 

However, when he looks to see that Connor also looks a bit taken aback and now, on edge, he hates to think that maybe she  _ was  _ frustrated with him.

 

“Can you think of any reason as to why this happened to you?” Clarice asks. Connor’s eyes narrow, and he shakes his head.

 

Clarice sighs, “We know Jigsaw doesn’t do this without reason, they’ve had their hands on you for a while, do you really have no idea?”

 

He doesn’t have much time to process the entire situation that unfolds before him: one second, he sees this indescribable amount of anger flash in Connor’s eyes, then the heart monitor is beeping, and Connor’s out of the bed, with his arms wrapped tightly around Clarice’s neck.

 

“I’m not going back there!” Connor screams, and Clarice is struggling to breath. It finally clicks in his mind that he should do something to help-- but when he takes a step forward, Connor fixes him with this some of look that he interprets as him saying  _ ‘take one more step and I’ll break your neck.’ _ He's probably-- no, definitely exaggerating his interpretation, but whatever.

 

If he weren’t so tired, maybe he would’ve processed that he has a taser and pepper spray for a reason, but instead, he opens the door and shouts for a nurse.

 

Connor’s still got a hold on Clarice, and he’s screaming about someone named Aria and Amelia and how he isn’t how back, he can’t go through it all again, and then he’s saying something about his family, but he doesn’t hear the end of it because a group of nurses rush in and sedate him.

 

His grip on Clarice falters, and one of the nurses catches him before he falls.

 

He shares a glance with Clarice, who looks more.. pissed than scared, but that’s reasonable because he had just proved himself to be an extremely useless individual.

 

Before he can say anything about it, Clarice grabs his arm, “Let’s go.”

 

There’s this feeling in his gut that’s telling him that Clarice is acting out of character, but who is he to say anything about that? He’d never really had a real interaction with her until.. This.

 

So he allows her to drag him out of the hospital and pull him into her vehicle.

 

And it isn’t until she has a gun to his head that he realizes that maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ he’s fucked up.

 

“Tell me everything you know about Jigsaw,’ she demands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout the Detective Hoffman from Saw VI for being my inspiration for Clarice.
> 
> Friendly reminder that criticism is always welcomed and appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can't say the thought of dying frightens her, she's only scared of what she might have to face to get there.

There’s a loud and swift knock on the door, and she sighs, leaning back in her chair as she stairs in dismay at the scene unfolding before her; the cops are..

 

They  _ found  _ the location, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before Alana came barging into the room to backhand her out of existence.

 

She’s surprised she even bothered to knock, and there’s a very small and pathetic part of herself that’s hoping that whatever upper power exists has decided to give her some more time to prepare for being lectured.

 

Whoever’s outside knocks again, and she leans back in her chair and sighs, “Come in.”

 

God is dead and the universe hates her because, in the doorway stands Alana Beck herself.

 

Damn.

 

Amelia tries to fix her posture, and hopes that she at least looks like she was hard at work before Alana decided to storm on inside.

 

She wonders if she’ll get yelled at for the dent in the wall that Alana caused because of how violently she opened the door-- because, next to Connor, she’s the most hated member of Jigsaw, the person everyone just  _ loves  _ to take their anger out on.

 

“Alana, hey,” she greets, glancing between her and the computer in front of her, typing away furiously. She’d been snooping around in places she shouldn’t, and she dreads thinking of what would happen if Alana happened to find out.

 

“What happened?” She asks bluntly.

 

“Malfunction,” she responds with a shrug, because that’s really the only excuse she can use.

 

It becomes clear quickly that it’s not a convincing excuse.

 

“Julian helped me with it,” she says.

 

“Yeah, ever think that he could have tampered with it behind your back? I’d imagine it’s not too difficult to. You’re sort of everywhere, you know.”

 

“Nathaniel helped too.”

 

“Mhm, I think all of us did. It’s been one of our most difficult projects yet.”

 

She looks up to see Alana not annoyed, but with this sort of smile on her face that seems to be growing progressively wider as the moments pass. It makes something in her stomach feel weird, it’s the feeling she usually gets when moments before finding out that she’s fucked.

 

There’s another knock on the door, and whoever knocks this time around doesn’t wait around for her to invite them in, which is something that she’d love to complain about, but it just happens so often that she can’t muster up the energy to care about it anymore.

 

Said person happens to be Alana herself, and she forgets to breathe for a moment because she has absolutely fucked up.

 

But, in her defense, this was probably a double edged sword. Jigsaw is tired of her and simply needs a reason to rid of her. That doesn’t mean she isn’t going to go out without throwing a couple punches, however.

 

Also, she wants to get some information out of them. Just a little more and she’ll be okay with them putting her in some gruesome death game. If Connor has a little more fight in him, if he’s just as mad at Jigsaw as she is, then she’s okay with dying.

 

She knows it’s.. A lot of trust to put into someone she’s only encountered in person once, but from what the information she’s gathered on him, she believes that Connor Murphy is a decent person.

 

“Aria has a very interesting story for me, that just so happens to contradict plenty of what you’ve just told me,” Alana speaks, and Aria grins. She takes a seat in Alana’s lap and gives Aria this smug lip that makes her blood boil. If she weren’t in the position she’s in now, she’d take great joy in wiping that smug look off her face.

 

“Do share,” Amelia says, hoping that she isn’t expressing as much fear as she’s feeling right now.

 

“You took a deal with her, I believe the terms were that you be freed in exchange for the gas being activated early?” She sighs, shaking her head in a way that reminds her of a disappointed mom or a teacher trying not to cry out in frustration while they grade papers because the paper they happen to be grading is so  _ wrong. _

 

“You know,” she starts, and she’s still typing away at the keyboard, she’s swiftly trying to put together an email full of all the information she believes will prove to be useful to Connor. “I think this was planned.”

 

Aria looks so offended, she has to put way too much effort into restraining herself from laughing out loud. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she shrieks, and her voice is in a pitch so high that she’s honestly surprised that the windows don’t shatter.

 

Amelia shrugs, “I don’t know, but don’t you find the timing of all of this so.. Convenient? I mean, it played out. There were casualties, and there were survivors too. It was a game reliant on everyone’s choices. It failed successfully, don’t you think?”

 

Alana opens her mouth to speak, but Aria beats her to it, “Mia died, Connor and Evan lived!”

 

Amelia winces. Somehow Aria’s voice is managing to reach a pitch that should not be humanly possible to produce or even  _ hear,  _ Jesus.

 

“And?” She decides to stare directly at Alana as she continues, “I thought the whole motto was that everyone gets a fair chance at life?”

 

“People only deserve fair chances when-”

 

“When what, Alana Beck? When you’re in a good mood? You know, I could deal with it when I saw that they were getting a fair chance, but now?” She hits ‘send’ before she stands from her seat, slamming her hands on her desk. “You put a  _ child  _ in there for fucks sake! She didn’t even do anything!”

 

Alana shakes her head, “She might not have, but her father did. Sometimes, to become a better person, you have to lose what you take for granted.”

 

“Then why not take her  _ wife??” _

 

“He doesn’t love her.”

 

“And what makes you think he loves--  _ loved  _ Mia any more?? Why not just him and him alone in a game?”

 

“My grandparents left me with a list of people,” Alana sighs, shaking her head, “But they didn’t take their job seriously, I’m here to spice things up. I’m making the world a better place.”

 

Amelia shakes her head, “No, nonono, you are  _ nothing _ like your grandparents; they gave people a chance to live!”

 

“And I’m not?”

 

“They didn’t throw fits when people as terrible as serial killers succeeded! You can’t even let some kid who’s struggling with his mental health alone for five seconds! And what about Connor?” she pauses, blinking rapidly, “What about me?”

 

“Before you were brought here, the two of you were constantly acting as if you wouldn’t even blink an eye if your families disappeared; the two of you were problematic children who needed more than just a push into the right direction. You needed a shove, and I gave that to you,” she grins. “The both of you were so ungrateful for the things life gave you. Are you going to tell me it didn’t work out? Do you still hate your family? Would you go out to drink and get high instead of taking the chance to spend time with them?”

 

Amelia pauses, her mouth agape.

 

“You.. you sick fuck!” she yells, slamming her hands against her desk again, not paying any attention to the items that fall off the desk; she thinks she hears a glass shattering, but whatever. “I’ve worked tirelessly for you day in and day out and you have the  _ nerve  _ to.. To..” her breathing is becoming labored, there are tears blurring her vision and snot running from her nose.

 

“Amelia, your game is nearing an end,” is all Alana says, she lets Aria get off her lap before she stands up herself, Aria is giving her that shit-eating grin again and Alana’s face is so blank it’s terrifying.

 

“Game?” she repeats, her brain finally catching up with the words.

 

But the two of them are gone.

 

Of course, of fucking course this has been a game all along.

 

She should be thankful that she ended up in a game that didn’t require any blood loss, but she thinks that she would prefer to lose a limb like Evan Hansen had and be able to go home instead of not being allowed to do anything but work as a mindless slave for Jigsaw for an indefinite amount of time.

 

She sits back down at her computer and makes sure all the data is encrypted before she grabs a knife from the drawer in her desk and stands.

 

Amelia Hayes is going to get out of here.

 

Or, she’s at least going to make an attempt to before dying a very disappointing death.

 

She can't say that the thought of dying frightens her, she's only scared of what she might have to face to get there.

 

So she walks out of the room and opens the front door, and it isn’t until she’s actually outside that someone tries to stop her.

 

When she hears footsteps, she turns around to see that it’s Julian.

 

Of course they’d send the strongest member of Jigsaw next to Nathaniel.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Julian warns, and if Amelia didn’t know any better, she might have actually believed him. But Jigsaw is a group based on playing with people’s minds, so she doesn’t. She’s smarter than that. “But if you take one more step away from this place, I have orders to stop you by any means.”

 

Then he gestures to the knife in her hands, frowning, “Drop that. Now.”

 

She takes the moment to lunge at him with the knife, and isn’t at all surprised when he grabs hold of her arm.

 

Amelia is smarter than anyone associated with Jigsaw wants to believe, she saw this coming, so of course she would have a backup plan.

 

“Think about your family. We both know Alana won't hesitate to get rid of them.”

 

Amelia laughs, “She won't find them.”

 

She takes the needle that she always holds in her belt and jabs Julian with him. His eyes widen in realization, but before he has the chance to react to it, he's falling to the ground.

 

She takes a second to just.. stare at him. There's a part of her that this is wrong, but she can't.. she can't do this right now.

 

She'll be back when she's needed, but she has a plan and she can't follow through with it here.

 

All that matters right now is that her family is safe, and that her plan has at  _ least  _ the tiniest bit of a chance to actually be effective.

 

Amelia whispers a silent prayer that Alana isn’t watching, or that it doesn’t turn out that she expected this, that she’s one step ahead and always will be. She shakes her head to try and rid herself of the thought, she’s not going to go anywhere if she lets the mindset she’s been forced into during her time with Jigsaw get to her now. She can’t belittle herself anymore, she needs to believe that she’s capable of winning in this game of intelligence.

 

As she starts sprinting away from the building she’s deemed as her prison for so long, she realizes that she could have bombed the place.

 

Maybe being with Jigsaw has changed her, because she would absolutely enjoy seeing the distress on Alana, Aria, Nathaniel, and Julian’s faces when they realize that she’s bested them at their own game, and the idea of there being a few casualties on the way doesn't affect her at all.

 

She wants to be able to cause them the panic and fear she’s been forced to face every day.

 

Alana Beck can play god all she wants and pretend to be an untouchable force upon her throne of gruesome games, but Amelia is ready to pull the cover’s from her eyes and introduce her to what the real world is like.

 

She has all the plans for it, and she may not be sure on an exact date just yet, but she knows one thing for sure:

 

Jigsaw is going to get a taste of their own medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't type Jigsaw as JIGSAW because it makes me feel like I'm screaming and I don't appreciate it


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mend the wounds.

“Do you remember the night you went missing?” The detective asks Connor, and he sort of just.. He kind of wants to laugh at that. Of course he remembers it, he remembers it very vividly because he spent a lot of time replaying the day in its entirety in his head, trying to see where he went wrong, pretending that he didn’t fuck up his attempt and wake up with some sketchy girl who he would later learn was Aria Ray.

 

But he isn’t ready to verbally speak of it, no matter how many times he’s relieved it himself in his head, so he gives the same response he gives to every other thing he doesn’t want to answer.

 

“No.”

 

“Right, okay, can you describe what happened while you were gone?”

 

No. He can’t. He doesn’t want to talk about that either. He doesn’t want anyone else to know that he’s a murderer, that he’s helped and should probably be in prison.

 

He doesn’t want to risk going to prison, he knows some of the people that Jigsaw has killed were related to some people who had money, and even with his dads riches, he’s not sure it’d do much because.. Holy fuck, some of those people were  _ loaded,  _ and that’s saying a lot coming from Connor Murphy of all people.

 

“Jigsaw,” he says, because he knows he can’t give no as an answer to that one-- he has to give them answers, he knows that, but he’s going to try getting away with giving them the bare minimum.

 

“And can you elaborate on that?” The detective-- Clarice, asks. He shakes his head because, no, he can not elaborate on that unless he wants to have a breakdown.

 

“I can’t.”

 

He’s finally, slowly but surely, allowing himself to relax until she asks the next question, which sends alarm bells ringing through his head. He has a very vague memory of Aria going in to question a hospital patient, and him having to do the same too.

 

If he thinks about it, he can still hear the man he questioned crying and screaming at him, and not being allowed to do anything about it but leave him.

 

“Can you think of any reason as to why this happened?” And of course he isn’t going to answer that, he’ll never risk him admitting that, though cruel, Jigsaw’s plan worked, getting back to them.

 

Connor hopes that him narrowing his eyes at her is enough of a warning. Clarice doesn’t seem to notice, but her partner that’s just kind of.. Awkwardly lingering behind her sure does.

 

“We know JIgsaw doesn’t do this without reason, they’ve had their hands on you for a while, do you really have no idea?”

 

That’s when he loses it, he swears everything goes red and his mind is screaming at him because this has ‘danger’ written all over it. His heart is racing and everything goes black because he gets up too fast but that sure as hell isn’t enough to stop him from grabbing onto her neck and squeezing.

 

“I’m not going back there!” He yells, “Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Who sent you, huh? Amelia or Aria? Tell them to fuck off, i’m done playing their game! I’m done!”

 

Connor barely registers the other detective yelling for nurses, and he really wishes he would’ve just taken the time to get rid of Clarice for thinking she could pull this, because he doesn’t want her going back there, he wants JIgsaw to know that he isn’t a force to be reckoned with, that karma’s a bitch and it’s coming to bite them all back in the ass.

 

But he can’t do that, and the world is getting dark again.

 

He isn’t surprised to wake up back in his bed later on, heart still racing and his mind fuzzy with anger. He has a headache, but it’s something he’s learned is best to not complain about over the years, so he just groans and sits up slowly. He is, however, surprised by the figure sitting in the corner of the room.

 

He blinks a couple more times and stares at said figure, waiting for his eyes to stop fucking with him.

 

“Zoe?” he croaks out, and she looks up from the book in her hands.

 

And his heart aches when he sees what exactly she’s reading, because it isn’t just any book, it’s one of  _ his  _ books. A year back, that would have pissed him off to no end, but right now, it brings this overwhelming amount of joy to him.

 

“Is that  _ The Little Prince?” _ he asks Zoe, who’s setting the book down and hugging him abruptly.

 

“You idiot,” she says, squeezing him so tightly that he’s having troubles breathing,but he doesn’t say anything about it. He’s been a terrible brother, and then he goes missing for a year and turns up only after being rescued from a Jigsaw trap of all things; she deserves to kill him with a hug if she so pleases. “We thought you were _ dead,” _ her voice cracks, and his heart shatters.

 

Because even after being a shitty person to her before all of this, she still cared about him. He doesn’t deserve this, but he’s not about to ruin it.

 

“I know.”

 

Zoe lets go of the hug to stare at him, her eyes narrowing, “You  _ knew? _ Where  _ were you?” _

 

“I think we all know where I was,” he says. And Zoe goes from angry to sad; he hates it, he doesn’t want to be causing any of that right now, he’s not even sure which one her prefers right now.

 

“So it’s true? They..  _ Jigsaw took you?” _

 

He looks down at his lap and nods, Zoe hugs him again.

 

“You dumbass! You can’t just.. You can’t just around and get yourself kidnapped like that!”

 

He doesn’t remember her like this, doesn’t remember her being able to yell at him when he deserves it. He’s proud of her, he’s happy she’s grown to finally stand up for herself.

 

“Connor, what the hell did they  _ do?” _

 

He just shakes his head. She doesn’t need to hear about it.

 

But she obviously isn’t taking that as an answer. He sighs.

 

“I think they wanted me to like up to my whole ‘school shooter’ vibe I had going on,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat and he cringes.

 

Fuck, he’s thankful he got out there before they made him shoot up a school, fuck. He really can’t put the idea past them.

 

“Connor,” Zoe starts, and she brings the chair she was sitting on when he woke up close to the bed. “I know that we didn’t.. Don’t. We don’t have the strongest relationship but, but you can talk to me. That.. Jigsaw isn’t a joke, that had to be really fucking traumatizing.” She sniffles, and he watches as she blinks a few tears away, “You don’t have to push me away,” then she pauses, shaking her head. “No, no, you don’t have a choice in this, i’m not letting you push me away.”

 

Connor snorts, then nods, because he doesn’t want to push her away, either. It’s barely been a few minutes but that’s more than enough to help him realize just how much he’s  _ missed  _ this.

 

“Nuh-uh, I need more than just a nod, asshole,” she holds up her pinky, and he barely manages to keep himself from snorting. “You’ve gotta pinky promise.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” he laughs, locking pinkies with her.

 

“Hey, no, you do  _ not  _ laugh at the power of a pinky promise,” he can hear he try for a serious tone at the beginning, but it definitely loses its seriousness by the end, when Zoe dissolves into laughter, and he laughs along with her.

 

He can’t believe he’s missed out on this for so long.

 

There’s a knock and the door, and they both stop laughing when a nurse walks inside, looking at the two of them apologetically. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we have a group therapy session going on for Jigsaw survivors if you’re interested in attending.”

 

Connor looks at the nurse, then at Zoe, who’s back to giving him that sad look.

 

“I think you should go,” she tells him, and she winces, as if she’s ready for him to start yelling at her, and it makes him want to cry. She seems surprises when the yelling doesn’t come and.. Fuck.

 

He wants to fix their relationship, and if that means he has to attend some group therapy session to prove to her that he’s not who he used to be, then he’s going to do it.

 

“Yeah, i’ll go,” he tells the nurse, who nods and helps him get up from the bed. He looks at Zoe, and he doesn’t want to leave because they were having such a good moment but he wants to believe that it wasn’t just a one time thing, that they’ll have plenty of time to bond more. “I’ll see you soon?

 

“I’ll be here after school tomorrow,’ then she pauses, “Dad wants to visit you too, so prepare for that.” And then she walks out of the room, not giving him anytime to thank her for the warning in advance, because really hates the idea of his dad unexpectedly turning up to yell at him for being an idiot. He can’t say he’s missed Larry at all, honestly, but he guesses that having to put up with Larry is nothing compared to having to work with Jigsaw, so he’ll get over it.

 

The nurse leads him into an elevator, and into a room full of.. A lot of other people, like, way more than he was expecting, Jesus.

 

He’s relieved to see familiar faces from the nerve gas house: Xander, Trinity, and even Evan.

 

And no Mia. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, he knows she’s gone, but it still hurts to think of. Out of everyone there, she was the only one who 100% deserved to get out of there; she did  _ nothing  _ wrong.

 

He doesn’t recognize anyone else, but he does notice one man who’s looking nervously around the room, as if he fears that someone in a pig mask is going to come out of nowhere and bring him back, and he honestly can’t judge him for that, because he’s can’t be sure that that  _ won’t  _ happen.

 

A woman claps her hands together, and it definitely isn’t the best of ideas because the entire room jumps and, like, five people look like they’re about ready to cry.

 

“Thank you all for coming here today,” the woman speaks, and he guesses that this must be the shrink who decided that throwing a bunch of JIgsaw victims together in one room would be a good idea. “We have plenty of new members today, so let’s start with introductions, okay?” she points to herself. “I’m Dr. Williams, and here to help you all recover from your Jigsaw games,” then she looks over to a man sitting next to her, “Would you care to introduce yourself?”

 

The man nods, his eyes looking around at the group before him, “I’m Matthew Miller, and i’m here because I was a drug addict.”

 

Xander is next, and he sighs and gives a bitter laugh, “I’m Xander Greene, and I am- uh,  _ was,  _ a drug dealer.”

 

Evan is next, whose been staring blankly at the floor and scratching at his forearm. Dr. Williams clears her throat and Evan jumps, like, five feet in the air at the sound, and he looks up at her with wide eyes. “Sorry, I was- sorry,” he stammers out, then pauses, “Sorry, i should, I should probably introduce myself, uh, yeah, I’m Evan Hansen and I-I..” he tries, his voice breaking, he points to his nub of an arm, “I had to do two games, and then I..” he shakes his head, and then he starts hyperventilating, “I killed my half-sister, and some other lady, and I shouldn’t be here, i’m just such a selfish person and Jigsaw knows that and i’ll probably wake up in another game soon enough and-”

 

“Evan,” Dr. Williams interrupts, “Can you breathe?”

 

“No, nonono I can’t- I can’t do this,” he stands from his chair so abruptly that it falls to the ground, and he runs out of the room.

 

They all sit there in an awkward silence, and that’s when it finally processes: Evan Hansen killed Mia.

 

He stands up and leaves too, because, although he knows Ecan might not have had a chance, he needs some answers.

 

When he walks out, he notices that Evan really hadn’t gone too far. He’s sitting right next to the elevator, shaking.

 

“Hey, Evan,” he calls out, and he needs to remember that this kid is very traumatized and jumpy because Evan jumps again. “Shit, sorry, I-”

 

Evan turns around and gives him this look that he can only describe as ‘lost.’

 

“I’m sorry for the.. The whole Connor Project thing,” he begins, then stars down at his feet, shuffling awkwardly, “That letter, it was for therapy, and your parents found it on your bed and they just.. “ he shakes his head, then turns back around to frantically press the elevator button. “You probably don’t want to hear it. It’s.. this is about Mia.” It’s not even a question, but if it were, Connor wouldn’t have an answer; he’s here for a lot of reasons. “It was a.. It was a game,” Evan says, his voice cracking, shoulders shaking.

 

The elevator doors finally open, and he walks in, still refusing to face Connor as he continues.

 

“I shouldn’t have made it out of there alive, I didn’t want to. I don’t deserve another chance,” the doors start closing, and Connor doesn’t follow after him because that’d probably really creepy. “But i’m happy you did, your family missed you so much.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He walks into the hospital room, and isn't at all surprised when someone grabs him from behind.

Evan rubs at his eyes, closes them and tries to get his breathing in control.

 

He should’ve stayed in his room, he really should have stayed in his room. Why did he have to open his mouth in the first place? Couldn’t he have opted to pass on introductions? Sure, that would’ve left him to be the awkward kid who just sits there silently and who everyone considers a creep because they’re over here spilling their whole life stories and he can’t even give them a name but hey he’d rather be known as the creep who refused to speak in group therapy instead of the dude who broke down and admitted to killing his half-sister.

 

He doesn’t even remember what happened, honestly-- and it happened like, a few minutes ago too. If that doesn’t go to show just where he’s at mentally then he doesn’t know what will.

 

Did he mention Mia’s age? God, he really hopes he didn’t, there were enough people in that room who not only knew of her age, but knew exactly who he is, he’s surprised they didn't gang up on him and beat him up. He deserves it, there’s no doubt in his mind about that.

 

He was positive that Connor followed him out to do just that. And honestly? Out of everyone who was in that room, he thinks that Connor’s the one who deserves the most to beat the ever living shit out of him, because not only did he kill Mia, but he also exploited Connor’s death and even if he didn’t mean to do it that doesn’t mean it never happened.

 

There are times during the whole Connor Project incident where he would just sit there and think of how nice it would be to actually have that, to actually have a friend like the Connor he made up in his mind.

 

But that wasn’t the Connor whose personality he and Jared pulled out of their asses. That Connor is alive and just as, if not more, traumatized than he is right now.

 

As he stands there in the elevator, he can’t help but let that thought process come back; he’d really like to be friends with Connor. He shakes his head, though, because he might want to be friends with Connor, but he doesn’t think Connor would ever want to, and Evan can’t be mad at that because..

 

Well, because he’s a terrible person who only ruins the relationships he has with people, he causes too much worry and he’s an anxious mess who’s lucky to get just a single sentence out without stuttering and loud noises scare him and so do needles and he absolutely can not forget to mention his fear of pigs because the first time he’d been kidnapped he vaguely remembers someone with dark hair and a pig mask and a trench coat and now he just really hates pigs for that reason and that reason alone.

 

The elevator doors open and he steps out.

 

He thinks he remembers reading a report online where it described someone had been kidnapped while waiting for the elevators, but they can’t be too sure because the guard had been killed and the person who was kidnapped didn’t make it out alive and the security cameras weren’t working too well that night so he also kind of hates elevators too but it’s either the elevator or the staircase and honestly if Jigsaw is after him and, for some reason, decide they don’t want to go through the hassle of messing with the elevators or waiting by the stairs then they’re probably already in his room and as terrifying as that is he can’t be bothered to care.

 

Evan shouldn’t even be alive right now, he shouldn’t be alive, shouldn’t be here to even bother to worry about Jigsaw anymore.

 

Yeah, he knows, this is the kind of attitude he had right before he passed out and woke up in a house with seven other people in the room.

 

But god, fighting for his life takes so much out of him.

 

He walks into his hospital room, and isn’t at all surprised when someone grabs him from behind, holding something cold up to his neck.

 

“Please just kill me this time,” he says, because that’s all he can wish for. He doesn’t want to die in a trap, all he asks for is for it to be as quick and painless as possible.

 

Whoever’s behind him doesn’t make a move to kill him, and they actually let go of him too.

 

“Jesus kid, that’s dark,” she says.

 

Evan just shrugs and makes his way over to his bed, not even bothering to look at her, he stares at the roof and allows himself to space out.

 

“Hey, none of that,” she says, and he only looks at her because she’s walking towards his bed and yea, it’d be rude to ignore her completely when she’s  _ right there  _ in front of him.

 

“Who are you?” He asks, not expecting an answer from her in the slightest.

 

“The name’s Amelia Hayes,” she holds her arm out to shake his hand, and he wipes his hand on the sheets before shaking it because he still has really sweaty hands like 24/7. Compared to them a year ago, they’re probably even sweatier nowadays.

 

“Evan Hansen,” He responds, and once again is not surprised when she nods, like she knows his name already.

 

“Look, Evan, I need you to cooperate with me for a second, okay? I know you hate Jigsaw, don’t you?”

 

That’s.. A very suspicious question and his answer to it could very well determine just how they decide to kill him, but he nods because right now he doesn’t feel real, and if he puts a little more thought into it, he can pretend that he isn’t real, none of it is.

 

“I need your help with taking them down, but I need to know whether or not you’re on board with this before I go into more detail.”

 

“I’ll help,” he knows he would have been more enthusiastic if he were actually there mentally, but he’s not and talking feels kind of funny so.

 

“Great, perfect,” she gives him a smile, and it looks kind of forced and fake and reminds him of his mom but this woman isn’t his mom, and the smile kind of just disappears as she continues. “You’re one of Jigsaw’s biggest targets.”

 

“Why did they let me get out of there?”

 

“They.. they didn’t want you to, Evan,” she rubs at her temples, then takes a deep breath, “I work- used to work with Jigsaw, but they’ve gotten away with this long enough. The cops, they aren’t..”

 

“They can’t keep up with Jigsaw,” Evan finishes, and Amelia nods.

 

“I have all the information we need, but we need to act fast. It’s.. they’re all really smart, like, ridiculously smart. If you’re in, then you need to be dedicated to this.”

 

“I will be, I am,” he tells her, because it’s true. He’s beginning to feel less floaty and weird and more like an actual person who is capable of interacting with other people.

 

“Perfect,” this time, she gives him a smile that’s more real. “You know Connor Murphy, right?”

 

“Yeah, he was, we were-”

 

“That’s bull and we both know it,” Amelia interrupts, “Jigsaw didn’t like that at all. I saw plenty of scripts and blueprints for personalized games just for you and I can promise that most of those were focused around giving you punishment for using a kid’s supposed death for personal gain.”

 

Evan opens his mouth to tell her that that’s not what he wanted to do, that he feels guilty for it and never intended on any of that happening, but Amelia interrupts him.

 

“They don’t give a shit about excuses dude, all they care about is literally anything you did wrong, and not what led up to it,” she pauses, and she looks like she’s debating on saying something, so he doesn’t say anything about how he thinks that that’s so unfair and makes no sense because if Jigsaw has that sort of thought process then they have no right to disregard what leads up to certain decisions and actions because Jigsaw is a  _ murderer. _

 

“They actually had this whole design that they were set on for the longest time, I talked them out of it,” she begins, and if the hesitance with a hint of very prominent fear is anything to go by, he doesn’t want to hear this. But, curiosity killed that cat and he’s not a cat but he’s positive that his own curiosity is going to be the death of him one day and he’s accepted that so he doesn’t stop her. “They were going to have you kill Zoe to get out of there.” She shakes her head, finally taking a seat in the chair next to his bed. “I still don’t know if that was the right decision because, yeah, Zoe’s innocent, but talking them out of it led to Mia’s death, so.”

 

“I wouldn’t have killed Zoe,” Evan says, because he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he did. He’s not sure if he can manage to live with himself any longer, not sure if he can live with the lingering guilt, knowing that he took the life of a child.

 

Amelia gives him this sort of worried look for a moment, but it disappears so quickly he can’t be sure if it even existed. “Connor happens to be another big target, and I need you two to stick together as often as possible.”

 

Oh.

 

She wants them to be bait.

 

Okay.

 

That’s.. That’s okay.

 

“You need to keep an eye on each other,” she says quickly, and he’s not sure if she’s just, like, a mind reader of if he’s an idiot who keeps speaking out loud when he doesn’t mean to. “I’ll keep my eye on you two to the best of my abilities, but I can’t guarantee that just yet,” someone knocks on the door, and Amelia freezes. “I have to go now, but I’ll try to be in contact, okay? Just, you have to watch out for Connor, they can’t get their hands on either of you or it’s a lost cause, okay?”

 

He nods, and then she’s speed walking out the door, bumping into whoever was knocking in the first place.

 

Who happens to be none other than his mom.

 

“Who was that?” she asks, rubbing at her shoulder, and he just barely stops himself from apologizing on Amelia’s behalf.

 

“A friend,” he tells her, and the way her eyes light up in response makes him wince because, right, he’s still a pathetic friendless loser. “From.. from group therapy,” he lies.

 

Because he’s an impulsive liar, and it’s something he wants to work on, but the Connor Project made it all even more difficult to break the habit. Now, he’s too busy focused on recovering from surviving not one, but two Jigsaw breaks.

 

He’ll work on his lying problem one day, and ‘one day’ is definitely nowhere in the foreseeable future.

 

“That’s great, honey,” she nods, seating herself and reaching out for his hand. Her eyes fill with tears and then she’s crying again, and he’s crying too because it’s always disheartening to see someone as strong as his mom crying because of him.

 

She’s cried every time she came to visit him here and that’s fair, completely fair, and he knows it’s kind of selfish to think but he would really appreciate her not crying in front of him anymore because it’s like, every time he manages to finally numb himself to what just happened, his mom comes in and suddenly all the emotions he's been desperately trying to bottle up overfill the bottle.

 

“I thought I lost you this time.”

 

But, maybe it’s good that she’s crying, because it’s what he needs to keep himself going. He may be a murderer and yeah he’s a monster for that but at least his mom still loves him and he’ll be damned if he breaks her heart because her love wasn’t enough to keep him alive.

 

“I missed you,” he chokes out, and he knows he looks gross because he can feel snot on his lip and he wants to wipe it away but his mom has a hold on his hand and if he has to choose between tasting his own snot and holding his mom’s hand then you better fucking believe he’ll put up with the snot thing no matter how gross it is.

 

“I’m thinking about homeschooling you,” she tells him, and he knows she means it as a joke but it also sounds like she’s being half serious and honestly he can’t blame her for it. He kind of wants to be homeschooled, too.

 

“Did they catch who did it?” he asks suddenly, “I was at school, right? There must be.. They have surveillance cameras, so there has to be footage, right?”

 

“No, they..” she takes a deep breath, “They’re saying the cameras were malfunctioning.”

 

Of course, he doesn’t know why he bothers to hope for good things to happen anymore, doesn’t know why he bothers to get sad when said good things never happen.

 

A phone ringing interrupts the moment, and Evan wants to stop crying again, because he knows what that means.

 

“Please don’t leave,” he begs, “Mom, I don’t want to be alone, please.”

 

“I’m sorry honey, you know with all the..” she trails off, but she doesn’t need to say anymore, his mind does that for her.  _ You know with all the bills, I have to work overtime. _

 

He once googled which was cheaper: a hospital bill or a funeral, and had discovered that funerals are cheaper. And now he’s back to thinking that they’d all be better off if he just died already.

 

But not right now, because his mom already has hospital bills, she doesn’t need to pay for a funeral on top of that; it’s supposed to be one or the other.

 

“Get some rest, okay?” she tells him, kissing his forehead.

 

He opens his arms up for a hug, because he at least wants that much from her.

 

“I love you too,” he says once she’s got him locked in one of those signature mom hugs; the kind that makes him feel like absolutely nothing could go wrong.

 

“Get some rest,” she repeats, stepping out of the room, “I’ll see you tomorrow, promise.”

 

“Okay,” he says, even though there’s no point in that anymore, and he stares blankly up at the roof that he can barely see anymore.

 

And that’s when it hits him.

 

Evan is a target of Jigsaw, and if they’re willing to bring Zoe and Mia into it, then he sees no reason why they’d have a problem with bringing his mom into it too.

 

They really do need to work fast.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy is exhausted.

“Tell me everything you know about Jigsaw,” Clarice demands.

 

And Percy would like to, he really would, but not only is his brain short-circuiting because it just loves to do that during the most inconvenient of times, but he can get through that if he tries hard enough, it’s fine.

 

What he’s really worried about right now is the possibility that Clarice is a member of Jigsaw herself, and maybe Percy’s gotten close to discovering something that could put the identity of Jigsaw at risk, so not only would Clarice want to know what exactly he’s discovered, but if she does work for Jigsaw, then she’ll probably kill him anyways.

 

He can’t take that risk. He’s spent months and sacrificed so much rest and has completely fucked up his physical and mental health to get where he is now, he’s not about to give it away because of the hope that he might make it out of this alive. He’ll take this to his grave.

 

“Not happening,” he tells her, and he tries not to display any surprise he might have because he sounded way more confident than he should in this situation.

 

“Lees,” Clarice warns.

 

“Best,” is all he says. Two can play at the last name game.

 

“This isn’t a joke.”

 

“Care to tell me why this information is so crucial to you, Best?”

 

Clarice just shakes her head, and he feels her shoving the gun against his head, and he notices that she’s shaking.

 

Which is.. Yeah, okay, he can work with that.

 

It gives him the motivation his sleep-deprived self needs to continue on with this.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Yeah you can, put the gun down.”

 

“Tell me everything you know about Jigsaw,” she repeats, raising her voice.

 

Percy shakes his head, “I’d rather you kill me right now.”

 

“Shit, Percy, just cooperate with me for once!”

 

“Put the gun down.”

 

Clarice doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t know for how long because the seconds are dragging on and and and his heart is pounding in his ears, and he’s so focused on that and the pressure against the side of his head that he barely manages to catch what she says next. “After you answer this one question.”

 

Percy wants to nod, but he opts not to, Clarice has her finger on the trigger and, although he’s willing to die for the sake of not allowing Jigsaw to figure out what he knows and what they can do to prevent other people from gaining access to that information in the future, that doesn’t mean he  _ wants  _ to die. At the very least, he wants to extend the remaining time Clarice and the rest of Jigsaw can offer to him before she finally decides she’s had enough and blows his brains out.

 

So, he remains silent and waits for her to continue.

 

“Do you work for Jigsaw?”

 

“I..” he pauses, because that was  _ not  _ a question he was expecting, and the confusion mixed with the exhaustion make for a fun-but-not-really combo. “What?”

 

He hears her sigh before, and he’d like to think that it’s because this difficult question for her to ask and that’s why she’s sighing instead of her just growing increasingly more annoyed and trying to find a reason for why she hasn’t killed him yet.

 

“Do you work for Jigsaw?” and he’s going to answer with 70% confidence that the answer to his previous question is the former. Clarice’s voice went from strong and kind of terrifying to hesitance with a hint of betrayal.

 

“No?” he frowns, “No, I don’t.”

 

Clarice doesn’t answer to that, and he wishes that she did because maybe that could have prevented what he blurts out next.

 

“Wouldn’t you know yourself if you work there?”

 

Clarice doesn’t respond, but the pressure against the side of his head vanishes, so he chances looking over to her and..

 

He has no idea how the hell she managed to go from demanding to “I’m having difficulties with not laughing out loud and have therefore resulted to trying to cover my hand with my mouth as if that will make it go away” but he doesn’t hate it.

 

“You think  _ I  _ work for Jigsaw?”

 

“If I think about it hard enough, it makes sense,” he tries to justify. Just a seconds ago, he had come up with a perfectly sensible explanation but, because the world is against him, it just so happened to dissolve the moment he actually needs it.

 

“I feel kind of stupid,” Clarice snorts, shaking her head at herself-- or at least, he thinks that’s what she’s doing. “There’s no fucking way you’re in Jigsaw.”

 

Yeah, he should feel relieved hearing that, but he’s not and he’s blaming it on him being sleep drunk, because the first thing that pops up into his mind is that he’s kind of offended that Clarice doesn’t think he has what it takes to be in Jigsaw.

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“Dude,” Clarice shakes her head, “I may still be fairly new, but even I know that you were a fucking mess when Sarah died. You were, and still are, hellbent on finding out who it is.”

 

He nods, because, yeah. He  _ is  _ pissed off at whoever decided to take Sarah away. He wishes that they would have at least given her more of a painless death-- but  _ no,  _ the sick fucker just happened to know that she was claustrophobic and decided it’d be fun to make that fear come to life.

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Clarice sighs, “I, this is a lot to take in and cope with, y’know? All the research in the world could have never managed to prepare me for that, Jesus.”

 

“I know,” he nods, giving a bitter laugh, because he really does know.

 

“How do you deal with it?”

 

“I don’t.”

 

She rubs her forehead, and she looks like she’s trying to collect her thoughts. He doesn’t bother her about it, because he gets it.

 

“Let’s get you home, you look like you’re one second away from death,” then she pauses, eyes widening as she processes what she’s just said, “Fuck, that’s really bad timing on my end. I don’t, I shouldn’t joke about that right now, not here.”

 

“No, go ahead. I joke about it every now and then too; I think we have a right to after… all of that.”

 

“No, I don’t think I do,” she admits, “Our game wasn’t even a game.”

 

“Yeah, It was. It seemed off, it was too simplistic,” and he’s thankful that he’s not the only one who was thinking that; the entire thing has him feeling.. off, like there’s more to come, and he can’t be resting when that happens. He needs to keep himself safe.

 

“What do you think Jigsaw’s next move is?”

 

“I don’t think it’s worth trying to guess. Jigsaw’s so fucking confusing, I’ve always had this theory that there’s more than just one person behind this whole thing. I mean, one person? That’s.. It unrealistic.”

 

“Yeah,” Clarice nods, “I think we need to sit down some time and exchange what we know about Jigsaw, without me holding a gun to your head.”   
  


Percy shakes his head. He works alone, he can’t put someone else in danger because of it, he can’t grieve someone like Sarah again. He can’t risk someone grieving him because he was stupid.

 

Clarice finally starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, “I’m not arguing with you right now, you really do look like you’re on the verge of a breakdown, it’s kind of scaring me.” Then she pauses, like she’s contemplating something, but she takes so long that he figures he should say something, and immediately regrets opening his mouth to speak, because that’s when Clarice starts speaking too.

 

“I don’t need to sleep.”

 

“You’re crashing at my place.”

 

Percy just kind of stares at her, then finally asks, “What?”

 

“I get it, you’re scared, and I am too, but you need some fucking rest. We can take turns or whatever until we’re in the clear, does that sound good?”

 

He wants to reject the offer, but he can’t, because he’s so scared.

 

They interrupted a Jigsaw game, and even though they were instructed by Jigsaw themselves to go do it, he can’t help but worry that they’ve got targets on their backs now.

 

“We can’t protect ourselves if we’re sleep deprived, you look like you’re already shutting down. Just take me up on this offer,” she says, then adds a very quiet, “Please.”

 

“Okay,” he says, because she’s right. If he keeps this up, he’s just as fucked as he would be if he were sleeping.

 

He hears Clarice sigh in relief, and hears a muttered “thank god” from her. “Good, I need you alive.”

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“There’s no way in hell we’re gonna be able to get to the bottom of this without working together,” she informs him, “So what do you say we get to the bottom of this together?”

 

That sounds really nice, actually, but his previous thoughts still remain, so he shakes his head.

 

“Percy, cut the shit, c’mon.”

 

“Can’t,” he says simply, as if it somehow manages to explain everything, but it doesn’t and he has no valid reason to be mad about that but he is.

 

“Why not?” Clarice sounds like she’s getting mad too.

 

“My last partner died,” he reminds her, looking down at his lap once he feels the familiar sting in his eyes, trying to blink them away.

 

“Newsflash: we have a better chance at staying alive if we watch each other’s backs.”

 

“Clarice, not right now,” he begs.

 

“What? You can’t deal with the truth right now? Too tired? Little baby wants his nap?” She pulls the car to the side of the road and stops it so abruptly that he swears he sees his life flash before his eyes. “If you couldn’t deal with it, then you shouldn’t have joined the force in the first place. Now, do you want to get some fucking rest or wait until your body decides to shut down?”

 

And suddenly, blinking isn’t enough to keep the tears at bay. He doesn’t speak, because he just  _ knows  _ his voice will crack if he does, and he doesn’t want to give Clarice another reason to criticize him.

 

“My time is just as valuable as yours, give me an answer.”

 

Percy shakes his head, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes.

 

“Percy-” she begins, but he cuts her off.

 

He knows his face is probably red and he probably looks kind of gross, because crying is gross, but Clarice is probably debating kicking him out of the car, and being alone sounds worse right now.

 

After all, Clarice’s life is in just as much danger as his is right now.

 

“Let’s kick Jigsaw’s ass.”

 

Clarice grins, then holds her hand out. Percy shakes it.

 

“They can’t hide for long,” she tells him, “But we aren’t finding them until you’re well rested, so take a fucking nap.”

 

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the middle of designing a game that I might not even get around to using but I just wanted to share that it was inspired by Falsettos. Don't ask me how it happened, because I don't know either, but the whole concept of it is pretty cool (I think)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wants his laptop.

Zoe walks into his room while he’s staring blankly at the roof, contemplating his life for what,  _ at least  _ has to be the fifth time today, because what else does he have to do while he’s here aside from eating shitty hospital food?   
  


“Dad’s on a business trip, so he couldn’t make it.”

 

He should probably feel guilty for the relief he feels hearing that, but he doesn’t, because he really can’t be bothered to. He’s thankful to have extra time to prepare his father. He’s not being selfish, it’s just, he needs time. That’s all. He’s not being ungrateful for his family, absolutely not.

 

“Cool.”

 

Zoe sits herself down in the chair, and looks at him with this horribly sad expression, so he looks away from her to avoid it.

 

“He’s missed you.”

 

He bites his tongue to physically restrain himself from spitting out some sarcastic response. He reminds himself that JIgsaw could still be listening, that this could all be a sort of test to help Aria decide whether or not they should take him back.

 

He’s better, way better than he was a year back, but that doesn’t mean a single slip up won’t end up with him back there.

 

But it seems that even that can’t keep his sarcasm in check, because it really never went away. Sarcasm could probably be considered as an essential for him. There were a few times when Aria was holding a gun to his head that he came  _ really  _ close to telling her that, if she had the energy to pull a gun on him, then she had the energy to pull the fucking trigger too, dammit. To this day, he’s still not sure how the hell he managed to talk himself out of saying that, Jesus.

 

“He missed having someone to yell at,” he says, because it’s what he believed then, and it’s still kind of what he believes now, too. Larry wasn’t a father to him, and even if he starts trying to be one right at this very moment, it isn’t going to make up for all the yelling they’ve exchanged in the past.

 

“Please don’t start with this,” Zoe shakes her head, “He’s gotten better. He misses you so much.” She reaches into a bag, then pulls out a paper and hands it to him. “He wanted me to give this to you.”

 

Connor takes the paper, but he doesn’t look at it despite the curiosity rising up inside of him. His curiosity can go fuck itself right now, because whatever’s on that paper is probably emotionally draining and he doesn’t want to deal with it right now. It can wait.

 

Zoe, who finally seems to realize that today isn’t a good day for attempts at conversation, stands up from the chair and looks down at her phone to check the time.

 

“I should get going.”

 

“Wait-” he says suddenly. Zoe pauses and turns to him, expression questioning. “Can you bring me my laptop?” he asks. As fun as it is to stare at the ceiling and have existential crises’, he’d really appreciate having something else to do in all the free time he has here.

 

Zoe nods, and turns to start walking out, before she abruptly pauses, he hears her mutter a curse underneath her breath. She doesn’t turn around to face him again this time when she speaks.

 

“Fuck, I think mom gave it away.”

 

His heart sinks, “You’re kidding me.”

 

“No, mom gave it to Evan,” she rubs at her forehead, “I’m sorry, it’s just, we thought you were gone for good, y’know? Dad convinced her to give it away, said it was no use sitting there.”   
  


“You’re kidding,” he tries, because he would much rather prefer to be mad because of some shitty prank rather than be mad because his family decided to give his shit away. Especially the important shit. Fuck. “What else did you get rid of?”

 

“I don’t know,” and then Zoe’s making her way towards the door, “I’ll see if mom and dad can buy you another one, okay?”

 

“Don’t bother,” he says, because it’s not worth it. He needs  _ his  _ laptop, not a new one, even if that does sound nice.

 

Maybe later.

 

But not right now because he has his priorities straight, dammit.

 

Zoe leaves without another word, leaving Connor to lay down and soak in his very prominent anger. He doesn’t want to track Evan down, and he’s sure the other wouldn’t be too thrilled about it earlier, considering just how much anxiety he seems to radiate.

 

He needs that laptop, because the note Amelia gave him very specifically stated that instruction awaited for him on his laptop. He kind of debates whether or not he should actually bother with it now.

 

If Amelia’s so smart, then she should have known that his laptop wasn’t his laptop anymore.

 

But obviously, that’s not enough to stop him, because he eventually finds himself in front of a door a couple floors up, hand an inch away from knocking.

 

It took a lot of asking around to finally figure out where Evan was, and he’s only just now realizing just how stalkerish this is going to seem, and he really should have thought this through. The only thing that’s keeping him from turning back around and heading straight for the elevator and hiding out in his room for however long he has to is his want-- no, his  _ need  _ to get back at Jigsaw.

 

He knocks on the door, and there’s a silence that follows, and he’s getting ready to knock again when he hears a response so quiet that he doesn’t understand how the hell he managed to hear it.

 

“Come in.”   
  


So he does just that, staring down at his feet and shutting the door behind him. He’s once again reminded of just how unprepared for this he is when Evan starts to ramble; he really should have at least had the decency to think of something to say beforehand.

 

“I, oh my god I’m so sorry and I know you’ve already heard me say that but please understand that I really didn’t mean anything that I did and why are you even here? I said that out loud, wow, and that was very rude but you’re here and I don’t think anyone but my mom knows where I am and I’m absolutely not accusing you of being a stalker, but-”

 

“Calm your tits, Hansen,” he interrupts, holding his hand up, and not only does that stop his godforsaken rambling, but he thinks he hears a short laugh come from his direction too.

 

“I- what?”

 

“Nothing,” he says, because he knows damn well that Evan heard him the first time around, and he’s not about to repeat himself because he knows just how fucking stupid that sounded.

 

“Okay,” Evan nods, and he looks like he wants to say more, but he seems to be more focused more on looking anywhere but Connor.’

 

“I need to talk to you.”

 

“I, okay, yeah, okay,’ he nods, and Connor can’t help but think about how he kind of looks like a bobblehead right now. “My, my mom’s coming to visit soon, and she usually doesn’t have much time to chat, so..” He trails off, but Connor gets the idea, he doesn’t want this to take up too much time. He can understand that.

 

“You have my laptop,” he says, because it’s not a question.

 

Evan freezes, then goes back to his bobblehead-like nodding, “Yeah, I, oh my god, is that why you’re here? I swear I didn’t.. I didn’t use it, it just didn’t feel right and it kind of made me feel really sick to look at and I almost threw it away so many times but I didn’t and it’s still in my room and if you want it I can ask my mom to bring it.”   
  


Evan’s still as, if not more so, anxious as he was a year back, and Connor can’t help but think that it’s more justified than ever. Evan could believe that the entire world was out to get him and he’d have every right to worry about it.

 

“Cool, can I get it back by tomorrow?”

 

“I can try,” he tells him, “I can try.”

 

He doesn’t realize just how bad Evan’s panicking is until he hears that heart monitor next to him beeping, and he just..

 

Well, he just stares at it.

 

He’s seen plenty of people panic during his time with Jigsaw, witnessed so many people beg for their lives right in front of him and him not being able to do anything about it. He couldn’t do anything back then, because he always thought his life was more important than theirs, that he for some reason had more of a reason to live than they did.

 

So what did he end up doing time and time again instead of helping them?

 

He walked away.

 

And it must be something that’s practically become encoded into his mind, because he turns around to do just that without even thinking about it.

 

He’s walked away from plenty of people, and the only difference right now is that Evan’s life isn’t in danger-- at least, he doesn’t think it is, anyway. It’s difficult to tell nowadays. Evan’s already a big target; he can’t think of anyone else who’s landed themselves in two games. He wishes he could say that that would be the end of it, but everyone is just.. So fucking unpredictable that it kind of makes his brain hurt.

 

“Wait!” Evan calls out, and he freezes in his tracks; another thing that’s probably managed to bury itself deep inside his instincts or whatever.

 

He may have never been able to save anyone, but he’s always listened to what they had to say. It never mattered if they were a serial killer or a doctor who made a simple mistake during a surgery that cost someone’s life, or maybe even someone who smokes even though they  _ knew  _ it wasn’t good for their personal health. He always took a moment to listen to some of their last words. There were even a few times when they asked him to give a message to their families, or make sure they stayed safe, and Connor has always done his best to fulfill their last request.

 

So he can listen to whatever Evan has to say, even if it isn’t a last request.

 

“Can you.. Can we meet up later today? I really just, I want to get the chance to clear everything up with you. I know I’m not.. I’m not a good person at all, and you don’t have to forgive me for anything I tell you, but I want to at least get it all off my chest.”

 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting Evan to say-- actually, that’s a lie, he was kind of expecting him to ask Connor in the nicest way he could manage, to leave him alone.

 

“Later today?” He asks, and Evan nods.

 

He’s still avoiding eye contact with him, and it’s kind of getting on his nerves. He might have decided to point it out if he were talking to.. Well, literally anyone else. But, he’s not, so he’ll stay quiet about it for now.

 

“Sure, just walk over to my room, I should be free whenever,” and he holds his hand out, feeling kind of idiotic when Evan flinches back from him, staring at his hand with this indescribable amount of confusion. He sighs, “Mind giving me a paper to write the room number on it?”

 

“Oh, right, yeah, okay,” he nods, and he grabs a scrap of paper and hands it to him along with a pencil. “You can ignore the numbers on that side,” Evan informs him, but it’s way too late for that.

 

Written on the piece of paper in his hands is the same four numbers that Amelia left for him.

 

He really doesn’t want to admit that he’s spent so long staring at them, trying to figure where the fuck these four numbers were going to become useful to him, but they’re right there on a paper that wasn’t given to him and maybe he’d be able to convince himself that they weren’t those four exact numbers, but he can’t.

 

“8310?” He reads out loud, glaring down at him, “Where’d you get this.”

 

“It was uh, a friend?”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“The last four digits of my mom’s phone number?” he tries.

 

“You’re trying to tell me that you can’t even remember your own mom’s phone number?”

“She, she got a new one.”   
  


“Yeah, sure,” He rolls his eyes, then scribbles his room number on the back of the paper, tossing it back over to him, not bothering to pick it up when the paper fails to reach Evan, falling on the floor. “Meet me in two hours. You’re going to explain to me how the hell you got a hold of that number.”

 

And just on time, someone else is knocking on the door. He takes the opportunity to storm out of the room.


	17. Chapter 17

Connor sees his way out, and is quick to be replaced by his mother.

 

“You and Connor catching up?”

 

He still gets this sort of sick feeling that sinks to his stomach and makes vomiting seem very appealing every time someone brings up Connor, because even now, no one but Jared, Connor, and himself know about the truth. He should clear things up, it’s what he’s been telling himself this entire time.

 

But every opportunity that passed by came and went too quickly, it wasn’t enough time. He was never prepared for what outcome was to head his way when he finally admitted the truth; no matter how much time he spent trying to get ready for it.

 

So he just.. Never did. He lied and he lied and liedliedlied until it became too much, until the guilt became too much. He couldn’t continue living in a world where the only thing that was keeping his head above water were his lies, because those were faulty-- simple rafts that he kept poking holes into, until it was weighing him down and down and down and he could only reach the surface again to bring himself to the top of a beautiful forty foot tall oak tree, and then he was sinking again. It was just faster that time.

 

He was sure he was going to take his last strangled and hopeless breath on the way down, but it wasn’t tall enough, and according to someone that everyone has decided to deem as “Jigsaw” he wasn’t allowed to lay there, wasn’t allowed to die.

 

He was forced to fight for his life and when that wasn’t enough, he did it again and even now it feels like he’s fighting for his life because he can’t breathe  _ oh no he can’t breathe- _

 

“Evan,” Heidi interrupts his thoughts, and she reaches out to hold his hand in hers.

 

He thinks bitterly that he would like to give her a hug, but he can’t do that, can’t give her a full hug when half of one of his arms is gone, nothing but a fucking stub because he’s so selfish  _ why couldn’t he let Emily survive. He should be dead dead dead. _

 

He should have fucking grabbed all three of those needles and stabbed himself with all at once.

 

It wouldn’t have mattered, the police got there in time to save everyone.

 

He’d trade his life anyday to go back and end it, give someone who actually deserves it another chance because he killed Mia he killed Mia he killed a ten year old child who hadn’t done anything that deemed her worthy of death and he hadn’t known Emily from his first game but he doubts she deserved to die either.

 

“Evan, come back to me, come on, deep breaths,” Heidi speaks up again, and he raises his gaze from his lap and meets her eyes, tries to focus on not letting himself spiral.

 

He’s wasting her time, she needs to go back to work soon and he has the  _ nerve  _ to have a breakdown during her break. He can wait, he can wait to break down later.

 

Not in front of his mom, not again because she’s dealt with so, so many breakdowns.

 

“I,” he starts, and Heidi gives him this look that just screams ‘forced patience’ and he’s reminded again that he’s wasting precious time and should really get his act together for once. “Can you, can you-- can,” and he pauses and closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He’d really appreciate it if his mind decided to  _ not  _ start buffering right now, thank you. “Can you bring me a couple things from home?”

 

She gives his shoulder a squeeze, “Just tell me what you need and I’ll bring it first thing tomorrow.”

 

“The laptop,” he blurts out, the winces, because he’s pretty sure that whatever poor soul happens to be in the room next to his is getting real tired of his inability to control the volume his voice happens to be at when he’s anxious-- or, in other words, he can never fucking control just how loud he’s talking and his brain always seems to let the importance of that just,  _ slip away  _ time and time again. “Connor’s old laptop? He.. that’s why he was in here? He heard that the Murphy’s gave it to me and asked for it back and since I haven’t touched it at all since they gave it to me I probably would have given it back eventually but he came in here to ask for it as soon as possible so yeah it’d be really really nice if you could just.. Yeah, bring it in first thing in the morning? But! I’m sure he’ll be okay with waiting because I know you work a lot and you look really tired and wow that probably sounds really rude but I’m worried about you and would really appreciate it if you could go and get some sleep too.”   
  


It’s a miracle he didn’t pass out while saying all of that, and he makes sure to take a deep and very loud breath but before he can speak again, Heidi’s interrupting him.

 

“You don’t need to worry about me, you know,” she sighs, shaking her head. She pulls her into a hug and he tries not to think about how he’s never going to be able to give her a proper hug again. “I’ll get the laptop and try to get off on time today, okay? But only if you can promise me you’ll be okay. You need to worry about yourself too, Evan. You’ve been through so much and I know you’re strong, but I need to make sure you’re okay first.”

 

And he’s not. He hasn’t been truly okay in a long, long time-- long before Connor waltzed on into his life, long before Jigsaw.

 

But he really needs his mom to take care of herself, because if she doesn’t then Jigsaw will get to her and he can’t even stomach the idea of her having to go through anything remotely similar to him. So he lies, because that’s what he does, and because he really needs to right now.

 

The truth is too long and he’s sure her lunch break will be over soon, so he needs to cut it short, she needs to eat too.

 

“I’m okay,” he tells her, and he tries for a smile; it feels more like a grimace, but Heidi doesn’t comment on it, so he takes it as a win.

 

Because he needs to give himself these tiny losses masked as victories to give himself a shot at even making it through the day.

 

There’s an alarm that blares from Heidi’s phone, and maybe if he were someone else, he’d get mad at her for still having it on because loud noises scare the ever living shit out of him.  _ She keeps it on a timer and makes sure you don’t waste any more of her precious time because that’s all you’re good for  _ he reminds himself.

 

“Shit, I need to go,” she sighs, looking up at him apologetically; he’s not sure if he believes that look anymore, because the time they share every day only seems to get shorter and shorter and he refuses to believe that the whole ‘time flies by’ bullshit because his life only seems to drag on and on nowadays-- just one continuous, repeating cycle.

 

“Please get some sleep,” he begs her, because although she might be getting tired of him, he still cares about her, still loves and appreciates his mom and will continue to do so until Jigsaw decides to take him out for once and for all.

 

Because that’s who’s after him, and the more he thinks about it, the more Amelia’s words settle in. He’s a Jigsaw target, and he’s more likely to die from being kidnapped by them again rather than trying to off himself. Why is he so sure of that? Because he’s convinced that, if he tried to let go of another branch, they’d be waiting. Waiting and waiting for him to do it and then save him because he, for some reason, needs to prove time and time again to these strangers that he deserves to live, even if he doesn’t.

 

“I’ll get that laptop to you tomorrow, promise,” she says in a rush, and he realizes that maybe time did fly by this time, maybe she missed out on the opportunity to actually eat during her lunch break and it’s all his fault because he can’t go a second without rambling.

 

She leaves without even a rushed ‘love you’ and he doesn’t get the opportunity to tell her he loves her too even though he’s positive she never hears it, that the times he’s never responded are no different from the times he did.

 

He just wishes she would have had a little more time, because the realization really is setting in and he’s kind of scared to leave the room. It’s entirely possible that someone could be waiting outside the door for him. Could have been waiting for..

 

His blood runs cold and he scrambles out of bed, stepping out of the room and peaking out.

 

Evan isn’t a violent person but he would absolutely enjoy giving whoever runs Jigsaw a piece of what they deserve, especially if he finds out that they had the nerve to lay a hand on his mom.

 

His heart only sinks when he doesn’t see her, and he looks around. She should still be in sight, right?   
  
He settles when he barely manages to catch her turning a corner, sighing in relief. His mom’s okay right now, he can relax.

 

And he  _ almost  _ manages to talk himself into actually relaxing until he remembers that he needs to meet up with Connor.

 

He entertains the idea of just, laying back down for two seconds at most but reminds himself that there’s no use in that because Connor knows where he is and he doesn’t have a doubt in his mind that Connor will come storming into his room if he doesn’t show up today.

 

So he forces himself to walk back in to grab that paper with “8310” scribbled on one side and “214” on the other. He’d already looked at the room number enough times to have it practically ingrained into his mind, but he brings it with him  _ just in case  _ his brain decides to stop doing its job for a second and he forgets the three numbers.

 

He presses the elevator button and tries to make sure no one’s walking towards him with a rag and chloroform.. Or needles, or anything that looks suspicious.

 

Maybe it’s not a good idea to look out for anyone that looks suspicious, his crippling anxiety not so kindly reminds him that he’s absolutely terrified of everyone.

 

The elevator opens and he rushes in, and does a mini mental victory dance when no one else makes their way in. He hates being in elevators with other people, and would rather take the stairs thanks but if he’s late he wouldn’t be surprised if Connor searched high and low for him just to, like..

 

Well, actually, he has no idea what Connor would do, has little to no idea who the real Connor Murphy is, because the fake best friend he and Jared pulled out of their asses is nowhere near who he is-- or, at least, he doesn’t think it is.

 

The doors open and he speed walks out, and ends up crashing into a man.

 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, that was so rude of me and should’ve been paying attention and-”

 

“Evan?” The man interrupts. He freezes, and turns to look up at him.

 

He blinks, blinks again, then blinks one more time for good measure because, fuck, this is his luck, isn’t it?

 

Because in front of him stands his dad--  _ Mia’s dad. _

 

“Oh, h-hi, hi dad,” he stammers out.

 

“How are you, champ?” and he puts his arm on Evan’s shoulder. He tenses up, and he  _ knows  _ his dad notices because he gives him this  _ look  _ that makes his mind scream ‘danger.’ But his dad doesn’t do anything about it, because he knows no personal boundaries.

 

“I’m, I’m okay,” he tells him, then steps back because the grip he has on him is  _ suffocating. _

 

But Mark pulls him back, and it seems like he puts even  _ more  _ of his weight on Evan to keep him there and he feels very unsafe and kind of wants to cry but he doesn’t, he can’t.

 

“I need to go see a friend-” he tries, but Mark cuts him off.

 

“I’m sure that friend can wait, how about some catching up?”

 

“Maybe later, I really need to-”

 

“I don’t think so,” and he raises his voice in a way that shuts him up.

 

But when Mark finally decides to try and speak after a silence in which Evan figures Mark was trying to figure out if Evan was going to comply, he steps away, and Mark loses his balance. He takes the opportunity to run down the hall.

 

“Shit- Evan, get back here!” Mark calls, but Evan doesn’t want to deal with him, of all people right now.

 

Because they know, everyone knows, they know he’s a murderer and he killed Mia and he’s beating himself up enough about it, he can’t handle the family going after him right now, even if he deserves it.

 

He runs into Connor’s room without even knocking, and he’s so thankful that it isn’t the wrong room, because he dreads the thought of having to explain _ that. _

 

Connor looks up from the book he’s reading.

 

“You should have knocked.”

 

“I know,” Evan says, because he does know, “I just, my dad, he.. And then I realized I probably would it make it back here in time and then you’d get mad so I, uh, ran?”

 

Connor starts laughing, but something shifts in his expression and the laughter stops so abruptly that he wonders if it was ever even there in the first place.

 

“You and Mia have the same dad, right?”

 

“Yeah, uh, what- can I ask why-”   
  


But then Connor’s getting out of bed and has his hand on the door. He feels like he should try to stop him, but the way he’s standing and the pure amount of anger that he’s radiating is not something he’s going to mess with.

 

“Where is he?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always one step ahead.

“I- what??” Evan stammers out, and Connor rolls his eyes, and he considers just pushing by him and searching the hospital himself, but he doesn’t, because a sudden question comes to him, and curiosity will surely be the death of him one day. He knows he probably shouldn’t even ask this, it’s a personal and sensitive topic, but he doesn’t care.

 

“What do you remember about your dad?” He blurts out. Evan looks so taken aback by the question and h kind of wants to laugh, but he doesn’t because he knows that every moment that passes means that Evan’s dad could be out of the hospital right now, driving off and getting back to his family to go and get away with being an abusive asshole a while longer.

 

“I- what- I don’t-”

 

Connor would really like more of a reason the fight this guy.

 

Like, if he had the opportunity to punch this guy or Larry, he’d pass up the opportunity to punch Larry with little to no hesitation, because Evan and Mia’s dad is just _that_ much of a short person-- and he hasn’t even met the guy yet.

 

“That’s.. Why are you-”

 

“Nevermind,” he sighs, opening the door, and he notes in the back of his mind that Evan’s following behind him curiously. He must have taken the hint that Connor’s not going to listen, because he’s stopped talking.

 

Or maybe Connor’s hearing is off, because everything seems kind of quiet and distant as he walks down the hall, and it doesn’t all come back into focus until he hears a man calling out for Evan, and he looks angry.

 

When he looks at Evan, he sees the boy is frozen in place, and he tells himself that he’ll try to comfort him later on, but right now, he needs to do this.

 

For Mia, because he isn’t a fucking monster.

 

Maybe this would have been her last wish.

 

Maybe not, she probably thought this was normal.

 

If Mia got out of there alive, he would have taught her to fight, to stand up for herself, to not accept the abuse she was receiving, and to fight and fight and fight and yell until the world finally listened to what she had to say.

 

He kind of hates the idea of Mia becoming someone like himself, but maybe Connor could have ended up like her if he hadn’t learned what throwing things and screaming could do.

 

The world goes out of focus again as he stands in front of this man, as a sudden realization hits him.

 

He fucking hopes he isn’t right, because thinking about it makes his blood run cold.

 

He doesn’t want to think that maybe that’s why Mia landed herself a spot inside that house.

 

That’s not how you fucking teach a child to stand up for herself, Jesus.

 

“Are you a friend of Evan’s?” the man asks.

 

“Yeah, and a friend of Mia’s,” he tells him through gritted teeth. “Mia told me some wonderful stories about you.”

 

“Oh Mia, she always had such a wild imagination, don’t you think?”

 

“I ran into a friend of yours in that house, and would you like to know what the stories he happened to share with me, too?”  


“Friend? How do you know Mia?” He says, and Connor thinks that maybe this man thinks he’s some sort of predator or whatever and that just makes his blood boil even more because that’s fucking gross and this disgusting man does not deserve to make assumptions about him.

 

“Xander Greene says hi,” he tells him, taking satisfaction in how quickly his face pales.

 

“Xander? He was always such a sweet man, shame that he had to go through such a traumatic experience,” he sighs, shaking his head in what Connor assumes was meant to be in a sorrowful manner. It’s so faked and adds onto the immense amount of hatred that Connor feels towards him and honestly, it’s a miracle he’s managed to keep himself from hitting him yet.

 

“Why weren’t you there? Why take Mia of all people? She didn’t fucking deserve it.”

 

“I don’t think anyone deserved it,” he shakes his head.

 

Connor takes a moment to look at him, to truly fucking look at him and his heart fucking stops for a second because this guy is familiar.

 

“Why are you..” he trails off, and the man shakes his head.

 

He seems so unaffected by all of this.

 

Connor grabs him, holds up his fist, and that’s when Evan decides to stop just.. Watching, and for some reason, he doesn’t help Connor in his mission to deform this dude’s face.

 

He grabs a hold on the hand clenches into a fist, and he turns around abruptly, because he’s angry and not thinking correctly and for some reason part of him decides it’s reasonable to think that, if Evan can’t fucking help him out then he’s going to take his anger out on him.

 

So he turns around and shoves Evan backwards, and doesn’t give much thought to the thump he makes when he hits the ground.

 

He turns his focus back to the man--Mark, and he still seems so unaffected.

 

Connor regrets the delay in his actions, because that’s all it takes for Mark to land a punch on him, right in the fucking stomach. He groans and leans over in pain because fuck, this dude really knows how to throw a punch.

 

Mark takes a step closer to him, and Connor mentally prepares himself for another punch.

 

He knows that there’s absolutely no way in hell that he’d be able to beat this guy in a fight.

 

But instead of punching him, he just leans towards Connor’s ear, and the words that follow make him wish that he would have just punched him instead.

 

“Your game has only just begun.”

 

And when Mark steps away, he realizes that the only reason he does so is because there’s a group of nurses escorting him away, towards the elevator.

 

Everything still seems kind of fake, he still feels kind of far away.

 

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t hear whatever Evan’s saying to him-- since when was he standing in front of him?

 

He watches, tries to focus back on reality as Evan turns his head and starts speaking. There’s a nurse at his side the next moment, and him along with Evan help him back to his room.

 

“Connor?” Evan speaks, and Connor blinks at him, noting that, while he can hear Evan, he still sounds kind of.. Distant. But he’ll take it for now.

 

“I tried to, I tried to warn you, what’d he say?”

 

Connor looks at him, suddenly feeling way too real and everything’s too loud and too close and he kind of-- no, he really misses the distant floaty feeling he was experiencing just a moment ago.

 

“Jigsaw’s always one step ahead, Evan.”

 

* * *

 

 

Zoe Murphy stands outside of the school doors, hand not even reached out to push the door open.

 

She doesn’t want to go inside. Not right now, not with everything going on in her life.

 

Because people talk, and word spreads like wildfire.

 

And the current hot topic at the school is her brother, the kid who went missing for a year and turned up out of nowhere.

 

That’s where their knowledge on the topic ends, and they want to know it all.

 

So they all flock towards the people who do happen to know about it.

 

And in this case, it’s her.

 

It was like this when Connor disappeared too, and she remembers bringing up the idea of being homeschooled to her parents because people. Wouldn't. Stop.

 

Her dad shut it down and she didn't do much after that.

 

She brought it up again yesterday, when word got out that the “crazy kid” had returned, and honestly there's only one person she can think of that would have access to that information and throw it about without a single thought.

 

It would have to be Jared Kleinman, and she really can't think of a reason not to believe it.

 

And Jared Kleinman has always seemed to try and keep drama that he's a part of alive for as long as humanly possible. He's really fucking good at it too.

 

So, what does that mean for Zoe? It means she gets the absolute pleasure of people talking about Connor longer than the school usually allows drama to stay alive.

 

This time around, she brings up the idea of her being homeschooled at every chance she gets. She's really tired of having to deal with this.

 

She really, really doesn't want to walk through these doors.

 

Just, please, she's willing to quit jazzband and go off to become some lawyer or doctor to make her dad happy just please, don't make her go through these doors and put up with the same thing, same people, same questions.

 

She must have taken way too long to dread the oncoming day, because there’s a hand on her shoulder.

 

You’d think that, considering everyone believes that Evan Hansen had been kidnapped at the school, she’d be a little jumpier. But she’s too busy mentally whining about just how nosey everyone is that she can’t be bothered to care about some psychotic serial killer.

 

She doesn’t think she’s done anything to earn herself a spot in a game, anyways.

 

“Zoe?” The person speaks, and that voice sounds familiar. She tries not to visibly cringe at the realization.

 

Of all people in the school to come and bombard her with questions, she doesn’t know how she hadn’t managed to notice the lack of Alana Beck, the nosiest person in the school, in those groups of people.

 

“Sorry, not answering anything about Connor,” she informs Alana, finally opening the door and stepping inside swiftly. She tries not to roll her eyes as she makes her way to her locker, failing to ignore the fact that she can still hear Alana’s footsteps behind her.

 

At least Alana has the decency to keep herself from speaking until they finally get to her locker, where she debates trying to grab her things and hide out in her classroom.

 

But even she hasn’t reached that low in her life where she has to go hide out in a classroom, like, fifteen minutes before she has to. She has expectations for herself, thank you very much.

 

She turns around, and gets ready for her day to start off just as they have been for just over a week now.

 

“I already said I’m not answering anything about my family, it’s none of your business,” she snaps.

 

Just because she isn’t Connor doesn’t mean she doesn’t have an attitude of her own, she just has a better hold on her anger than Connor did, knows when to tell when and when not she should give someone a good verbal slap, warn them to back off.

 

Alana looks unaffected by her little snap, and it kind of reminds her of her dad; how he’d gotten so used to Connor that when she finally started breaking down, he barely even flinched.

 

“I’m not here to talk about Connor,” she tells her, and Zoe decides to listen. “I was actually wondering how you were doing? It must be really difficult to have to go through all of this alone.”

 

There’s a voice in the back of her mind that’s comparing the tone she’s using along with the smile to her mother, but her surprise provides her with just what she needs to ignore it.

 

Honestly, she wouldn’t have predicted that in a million years.

 

She knows the amount of surprise she feels is really sad, but she doesn’t care. Honestly, she was starting to doubt if people believed she was even a person with actual emotions.

 

“I.. yeah, it hasn’t been easy,” she admits, blinking rapidly.

 

She tries not to think of just how frustrating it is, she can keep her emotions in check perfectly fine until she actually starts talking about it, then all of a sudden her eyes are just two water pipes that _conveniently_ decides to both break at once.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, I get it, you can cry,” Alana tells her, and she pulls Zoe into a hug, which she steps back from.

 

Maybe she might not have, but there’s a single thing that’s getting on her nerves, and it’s Alana saying that she _gets_ it. She doesn’t. There’s no way in hell Alana Beck of all people would have any idea what it’s like to have to go through all of this: the broken family that somehow managed to break even more when the thing that tore them apart in the first place disappeared, the gossip and the having to pretend that she doesn’t feel like it’s tearing her apart.

 

“I don’t need any fake pity right now.”

 

“It’s not fake pity,” Alana shakes her head, “I mean, I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I have my own idea of what it feels like when your life feels like it’s falling apart. Do you wanna meet up at lunch? We can talk about it, you look like you need it.”

 

And Zoe nods before she even knows she’s doing it, and she’s smiling, she’s giving a real and genuine smile for the first time in what seems like forever.

 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always loved the concept of trials rather than just a single game.
> 
> I've got finals this week and next, so I apologize about this not being updated as often as I'd like for it to be.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can fight a little longer.

Connor storms out of his room, and he follows behind, because he feels kind of awkward just thinking about standing there innocently in Connor’s room while he goes off and punts his dad into outer space.

 

Or at least tries to.

 

He has very vague memories of his father, and none of which are good memories, really.

 

They’re all of him trying to be the good son his father always wanted him to be and always falling short of his goal. He’s always managed to disappoint him, no matter how much energy he put towards trying to avoid doing just that. He’s always been this huge disappointment to his father, and knowing he’s here, in this hospital right now, makes him think about it, reminds him of just how much of a disappointment he’s always managed to be to his dad. There’s still a part of him that wants to prove himself, feels the need to show that he’s okay, he’s a good son, he doesn’t need to be hit because of how sad he is no thank you.

 

And maybe he would have a little more time to think about how bad that is and how he should probably bring that up to his therapist one of these times and maybe also consider that him being this pathetic and desperate to earn validation from an abusive man could have also been another reason why he landed himself in two seperate games. Maybe he’s had more time to actually process all of that and have another fucking panic attack because that’s all that seems to be happening if Connor didn’t look about ready to fight his dad.

 

Yeah, despite him wanting to prove to this fucked up man that he deserves love, he’d still love to see Connor break his nose but he knows that his dad is a lot stronger than he might look.

 

He has a very vivid memory of his mom trying to kick him out of the house, trying to put her foot down, and he remembers peeking around the corner of the door because he had gotten out of bed to go bother them for a bedtime story, because he didn’t think he could sleep without one; wouldn’t allow himself to because of how important it seemed to him, because it helped to fool his younger self into believing that his family wasn’t falling apart at the seems. Just because he was a child didn’t mean he was as clueless as to what was going on as his parents seemed to believe.

 

If anything, his mother was the clueless one. She only knew the bare minimum of what was going on. She’d tossed something at him-- a shirt, and he remembers darting out of the way and going into full breakdown mode. He remembers begging her to not hurt him, and she seemed confused for a second before it finally clicked.

 

_ “Evan, Evan are you.. Okay? What’s that about, sweetie?” _

 

He remembers shaking his head and stuttering something along the lines of, “ _ Dad, h-he- he can’t, mom you can’t tell him. Pleasepleaseplease don’t tell him mom-” _

 

He remembers how she froze, how even she seemed scared and that only seemed to send him into more of a panic because his mom is never scared and she’s supposed to be the strong one and all she needed to do was tell him that she wouldn’t tell his dad because he’d get so mad and when he gets mad he starts yelling and Evan starts crying and that makes him even more mad and then it got physical and and--

 

And his younger self had realized the terrible. Terrible mistake of saying that out loud.

 

Heidi was looking at him with wide eyes, tears unshed, and he could have sworn that his tiny little heart had shattered into millions and millions of pieces because his mom was supposed to be the strong one.

 

It had all led up to them, to him trying to ignore it all, trying to pretend he was okay because if his mom could put on a brave face, he could too. His dad always said they’d be a broken family without him.

 

Now, he knows that, no matter what, they were already a broken family.

 

He remembers vividly how the yelling exchanged between the two grew louder and louder until suddenly it grew very, very quiet.

 

He remembers the pure fear planted in his mothers eyes, because his father had his hands around her throat and he was squeezing and squeezing and Evan wasn’t an idiot, he could see that she was struggling to breathe, trying to get him away, could see just how quickly she was turning purple and he couldn’t move he couldn’t help he couldn’t help and his father was going to kill the most important person in his life and he couldn’t do anything about it and he was frozen, he was frozen and all he could do was watch.

 

Evan blinks, sniffles, realizes he’s crying, and rubs at his eyes in a more violent manner than he probably should and tries to bring himself back to reality.

 

And he’s reminded why exactly he allowed himself to spiral into that very, very bad memory cycle-- because Connor’s definitely going to try to fight his dad and he doesn’t know why but the last time someone did that- the last time his mom did that, she nearly made it out alive.

 

Maybe they put him in two different games because, even now, even after almost watching his dad kill his mom, he still can’t stand up for himself or anyone else because if it scares him then he’s not moving anywhere even if he wants to.

 

But he can try to talk, he can try to talk and stop it that way, tries to reason with his nerves that he’s far enough away from the two of them to get a running start if his dad so decides he’s heard enough of Evan’s bullshit, if he decides that Evan needs to fight for his life one more time before he can’t because if he almost killed him mom then he sees no reason as to why he would hesitate to try and do the same to him; hell, two out of the three children he has are dead.

 

He’s not going to think about the fact that he’s the reason one of those kids are dead, he doesn’t-- he can’t, he just.. Not right now. He can feel guilty and spiral all he wants later not. right. now.

 

But fuck, could he live with the guilt of running, live with leaving Connor there to deal with him alone?

 

No. he can’t but he can’t do anything and damnit,  _ why can’t he be useful to someone that isn’t himself just this once? _

 

Connor’s speaking to his dad, and he can’t quite hear what’s being said but there’s no mistaking how he seems to be growing increasingly more angry and it’s sending alarms ringing all throughout his head and everything’s just so  _ loud  _ and he’s surprised that no one’s come over to tap him on the shoulder and ask him to stop causing so much noise because his heart is so loud in his ears right now.

 

Maybe if his brain would do its job and actually help out with this whole.. Not moving struggle, he’d sit down because he’s suddenly been hit with the urge to lean over the toilet and vomit his guts out even if he’s probably already managed to do that like, five times in the last few days.

 

“Connor- Connor can you just, can we leave?” He manages, and it’s not enough because he’s not enough and it’s never enough because Connor doesn’t react and although it’s frustrating and discouraging, he’s madder at Connor than himself because he’s not too sure if he managed to say it, or if he just imagined it.

 

“Connor, this isn’t a good idea,” he manages, and he knows that it was at least a little louder this time around, because there are a group of nurses who finally seem to notice the entire situation; he’s not going to be mad at that either, because they’re busy and if his mom were in that crowd he wouldn’t want some random teenage boy getting mad because he expected someone else to help out with a problem he couldn’t deal with on his own just because of his stupid anxiety.

 

But Connor doesn’t respond, and he’s about to try again when Connor decides to raise his fist, grab his dad, and he shouldn’t be protecting this man-- and that’s not what he’s doing, but this gives him a bad feeling and he believes with every fiber of his being that keeping Connor from punching his dad is doing him a favor.

 

If his dad was willing to hurt him, someone who would probably never be able to bring himself to fight back, then he doesn’t want to think about what his dad would do to someone who was more than willing to fight back.

 

Evan finally wills himself to move, and he grabs onto Connor’s arm.

 

He’s quick to learn that he’s made a very stupid mistake when Connor turns around and  _ shoves  _ him to the ground.

 

Maybe if he had two functioning arms, he could have managed to catch himself. Maybe not, because either way, his title of “clumsy anxious useless mess” that he gave himself a while back still stands.

 

“Connor-” he tries again, but he’s late.

 

When isn’t he late, though?   
  
He watches as his dad-- fuck, no, he’s not doing that, he doesn’t deserve that title, he’s Mark-- connects his fist with Connor’s stomach.

 

He wonders if there was something in his past that caused Mark to act the way he does now, wonders if Jigsaw bothers to take that into consideration when choosing their victims-- he wants to think they do, because it’d be such a simplistic conclusion, but he doesn’t think that would make any sense. None of this seems to many sense anymore, no matter how he tries to wrap his head around it all.

 

He wonders why Mark hasn’t managed to find himself in a game of his own yet, why, instead of himself, Mia did.

 

Why had Evan had to endure this twice, but Mark remains unscathed?

 

Finally, there’s a nurse helping him up from the floor, and when he looks over at Connor, he sees that there’s another helping him out too.

 

He thanks the nurse, but steps away from her because getting help with walking makes him feel like an actual child-- and he might still be young, but he thinks he’s gone through enough in his life to semi-confidently say that he’s like to be treated like an adult.

 

...sometimes.

 

“Connor?” he asks, trying to drag himself far far away from his thoughts because he’s getting really tired of them dragging him away from his attempts at trying to act like a functional person.

 

Connor doesn’t respond, so he continues to speak, because he can’t do silence right now.

 

Or, he can, but he’d really, really prefer to avoid doing that because silence means more room to get lost in his head and his brain is a verified asshole that loves ruining any and every situation and he’d really appreciate doing something to help him ignore it as a sort of ‘fuck you’ to it.

 

“I tried to, I tried to warn you,” he says, because he feels that it’s important Connor knows that he tried to help out-- even if he ended up failing to do so very miserably. Then, he finds himself asking, “What’d he say?”

 

Connor finally seems to process his words, and he turns to face Evan, make direct eye contact with him and he seems so focused that it’s kind of- no, it’s scary. Period.

 

“Jigsaw’s always one step ahead, Evan,” and he sounds dazed and scared and he looks so out of it again.

 

Evan tries to get the tightness in his lungs and his very loud mind to stop, to try and keep it all together for just a while longer as they make their way back to Connor’s room.

 

He should probably ask Connor if he can come in, because although they originally had plans to talk about the whole.. Amelia situation, that was before Mark decided to punch him.

 

So, he does.

 

“Can I, is it still okay if-?”

 

Connor nods slowly, opening the door and walking inside, “We need to talk about it.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it later? You sound, well, you sound kind of tired? And I think getting rest should be a priority here?” he tries.

 

Connor laughs, kind of bitterly, and shakes his head, “I’ll be fine. We need to talk about this.”

 

“Are you-”   
  


“Yes, I’m fucking sure, Evan,” Connor interrupts sharply. It makes Evan kind of jump. He decides it’s best to give up on trying to convince him to take care of himself.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Not going to hear that,” Connor informs him with a roll of his eyes, “Wanna sit?”

 

Evan just shakes his head because he’s partially afraid that he’ll apologize again and Connor will get mad and because he’s scared that maybe his voice is just annoying and that’s what’s annoying Connor. He can deal with that, communicating what he needs to in the most silent way he can manage is probably the only thing he's kind of good at doing.

 

Kind of.

 

Okay, not really, but he can try.

 

Connor sighs, and he definitely sounds annoyed, but he doesn't yell at Evan when he speaks, so he's counting that as a win. "Right, okay, what do you know about Amelia?"

 

"She gave me that paper and told me something about sticking together with uh," he pauses, kind of frowning to himself as he thinks this over because  _ is telling someone you were specifically instructed by some random sketchy stranger that snuck into your room to keep an eye on them really a good idea? _

 

He continues anyways.

 

"She said something about sticking together with you because we're, we're targets? Like, really big targets?"

 

Connor frowns, but it doesn't give off the same 'i'm going to rip your head off within the next thirty seconds' kind of vibe that the sigh he gave him like thirty seconds ago did so, that's.. reassuring?

 

"I never understood why they had so much interest in you. Like, there are people who freed themselves and still continued to live really shittily-- and no, not as in them like, moping around, I'm talking people like," he pauses and visibly cringes as he continues, "Your dad. He's never had a game, you know that, right? There was nothing in the plans for him either.." he trails off.

 

Evan takes a second to process it. It’s a little difficult to wrap his head around it, that Connor was a part of Jigsaw.

 

There’s a voice in the back of his mind telling him that Connor’s still a part of it, that he’s some sort of spy, sent there to get information on Evan and he’s going to go back and tell them he needs another game and another and another because they aren’t fixing him; he can’t seem to fit into what Jigsaw believes is a reasonable person and it’s driving him mad because no matter what, it’s never enough. He’s never enough.

 

“How do I know I can trust you?” He blurts out.

 

Connor looks.. Stunned, taken aback, and there’s absolutely no doubting that he looks kind of.. Offended at the question. And yeah, maybe he does feel a little bad for that question.

 

Just a little.

 

At the end of the day, Evan has to make sure he’s not going to go back there again. He can’t keep fighting and fighting and then being punished for not being able to win the battles in his head fast enough; he can’t keep going on like this.

 

The whole ‘i’ll stay here for my mom’ motivator works to an extent. In the end of it all, he’s still selfish, he can be selfish, he can’t keep fighting when he can’t even find it in himself to fight for himself, when it has to be for the sake of someone else.

 

Connor still hasn’t responded, and he wants to be understanding of that, he does, but his stupid brain can’t allow him that, can’t allow him the luxury of not freaking out for  _ five seconds is that too much to ask? _

 

“I’m sorry,” he sputters out, “I’m sorry, I just, I really.. I can’t take any risks, Connor. I can’t do that again, I can’t do it, please just.. Help me out a little here. Tell me you’re safe to be around.”

 

“I’m safe,” Connor tells him, and he says it so insistently and confidently that it almost manages to get through to him, to push past this cloud of anxiety. “If Jigsaw wanted you, they’d have you right now. Aria’s.. She’s really fucking impatient.”

 

“Aria?”

 

“Jigsaw,” Connor says, then clarifies, “Or, a member of Jigsaw? I don’t fucking know, I’m just as clueless as you are.”   
  


“That’s not true.”

 

“Okay, it’s a little bit of an exaggeration,” Connor shrugs, “But I’m fucking lost.”

 

Evan rubs at his head. The more information he gets about all of this, the more confusing it gets. He feels like he’s trying to stick puzzle pieces together that don’t even belong to the same puzzle.

 

“I think all of us are,” he tries for a laugh, and it comes out so forced and kind of obnoxiously loud and he kind of wishes he could just, stop existing right now, please.

 

Connor doesn’t point out his idiocy, and he’s thankful for that, and he’s even more so when Connor just, changes the topic.

 

“You met Amelia, right?”

 

“Yeah, she was… I thought she was going to kill me.”

 

“God, me too,” he kind of laughs, and it sounds just as awkward as Evan’s did a moment ago. He hopes that it’s not rude to be thankful for that? He knows it’s weird, though; no saving himself from that. “Do you trust her?”

 

“I don’t know,” he admits, “But I don’t think we.. I don’t think I have a choice. I can’t- I don’t know if I could go through another..” Evan trails off, because he knows they’re called games, and he knows that they fit the qualifications of one but he refuses to call those  _ traps  _ games.

 

But Connor was part of Jigsaw at one part, and he might call them games. He might get mad at Evan for not calling them by what Jigsaw so clearly prefers they be referred to as.

 

“I think we have to chance it,” Connor tells him.

 

“Okay,” he nods, thankful that they can both agree on this small, probably insignificant thing.

 

“Okay,” Connor repeats, and he looks kind of awkward. Is it weird to take comfort in Connor’s awkward? Probably. Does he care? Probably, but he’s going to ignore the worry because he thinks he deserves to relax a little for once.

 

And he thinks he can do just that right here, around Connor.

 

“Can we meet up again tomorrow?” Connor asks, and Evan nods.

 

“I still need to give your laptop back,” he informs him.

 

Connor nods, and he sort of pauses. “Amelia had to have gotten something on there. Let’s check it out together and decide if we should risk it?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s.. That sounds good.”

 

“Great.”

 

“Great,” he repeats. Now, they’re getting to the point in the conversation where he’s no longer managing to find comfort in the awkward. “I’ll just..”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Bye?”

 

Connor laughs, and it doesn’t sound weird this time. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Evan nods, and decides to step out instead of repeating Connor’s words back to him. Even if it hadn’t been annoying Connor, he was growing increasingly more embarrassed the longer he stayed there, the more he got the opportunity to show off his lack of communication skills.

 

His eyes scan the people in the hall, and when he doesn’t see Mark, he makes his way to the elevator.

 

Tomorrow.

 

He can wait a little longer if it means he doesn’t have to worry about his life for much longer-- or at least, he doesn’t have to worry about his life falling in Jigsaw’s hands again.

 

He can fight a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hihi!! Summer vacation is just around the corner for me, so i'm hoping that means more frequent updates!! 
> 
> Feel free to go follow my on tumblr at con-fuckingfused-nor


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the past: Alana, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated tags, stay safe!

Alana shifts the backpack on her shoulders uncomfortably; she can already hear her future self’s complaints about the back pains. Just this once, she’ll ignore whatever her future self might say about this, because there are much bigger things to worry about right now.

 

She stands in front of a house, a huge, expensive looking house.

 

It’s big because her grandparents love being able to host family gatherings there and to be able to have the room for it. That’s literally the only reason. The few times she’s visited without the excuse of a holiday, she’s noticed that most of the house isn’t used. It’s kind of wasteful, but she knows better than to voice her opinion in front of adults when it’s anything other than something positive. Alana may be talkative at school, but she’s learned that being silent is the key around her grandparents.

 

She didn’t get along with her parents well, either.

 

Alana closes her eyes and grips and the straps of her backpack. She can’t start using past tense right now. She may not have heard back on the condition her mom was in after the car crash, but she knows her dad is in some coma. She shouldn’t start thinking of them as dead right now, not when there’s still a chance she’ll see them again.

 

Or, rather, that they’ll see her again. She can still see them if they’re dead.

 

But for now, she just needs to stay with her grandparents alone.

 

She’s not an only child, all of her siblings are just, older than her, they already have lives of their own, don’t need a place to stay when they’ve got places of their own, have families of their own.

 

Her siblings offered to let her stay with them, but she can’t put that on them. Also, her grandparents aren’t too far from the school; she’d hate to switch school during her senior year, she can’t do that to her parents. Not when they had been so adamant about her graduating from this school.

 

Not past tense, she reminds herself. Not yet. It’s still very much a wish that they have presently, they’re just.. Not awake to express that.

 

She knows it’s wrong, but she wonders if it’s too late to turn back and call her older brother, then remembers that his wife is due for a baby any day now.

 

Just a few days. Just a few days, she reminds herself. She has faith that one of her parents will wake up soon. They have to, don’t they?

 

She makes her way to the huge door, and it alone intimidates her. Closes her eyes and prepares for what’s to come, and then knocks on the door before she can manage to convince herself that living in a bush might be better than this.

 

There’s no answer, and she kind of frowns. Then, her eyes land on a doorbell, which she doesn’t remember being there. She’d like to believe that it’s a new addition to her grandparents’ home rather than something she was just too stupid to notice because she absolutely refuses to believe that she’s stupid. She’s Alana Beck, the future president. There’s no way she’s going to allow herself to start drowning in her irrelevant self pity and sadness right now just because she’s a little-- okay, a lot-- intimidated by her grandparents.

 

She presses the doorbell, and hears it ring in the house from the outside. Then, she hears a distant “Oh shit-” followed by a, “I’ll be right there!”

 

A few seconds later, the door opens and reveals her grandma, grinning at her and holding a plate full of cookies out to her.

 

“Alana! It’s good to see you. Your grandpa’s hanging out in the basement right now, but he should be up in a bit.”

 

She nods and takes a cookie from the plate.

 

No one’s ever been allowed inside the basement. She has a very faint memory of her cousins making a game out of it, to see who could manage to sneak into it.

 

Of course, once her grandpa found out about it, belt whippings happened. Very violent ones that definitely might have crossed the line of discipline right into abuse. Her cousins decided every year that followed afterwards they’d much rather spend helping out around the house.

 

“Take a seat. Just thinking about all the travelling you’ve been doing makes me crave a twenty year nap.”

 

She doesn’t try and tell her that not too much travelling had actually happened, that she’s actually kind of energized. Just, sitting inside of a vehicle for so long was kind of.. Miserable. She managed to get some reading finished along the way, but the headache that followed caused her to decide that it wasn’t worth it. So, she opted to take a nap.

 

The nap also ended up being a really bad idea. She woke up with a cramp in her neck and while the headache had dulled, it didn’t do much. She still felt nauseous and just.. Terrible.

 

She would really appreciate going on a little walk right now, but if her grandma wants her to sit here and eat cookies until she physically can’t bring herself to anymore, then that’s what she’s going to do. Because, while her grandma isn’t the one that strikes fear in her, it’s that lingering fear that doing something wrong will upset her and upset grandma equals upset grandpa and upset grandpa means that Alana can kiss whatever hope she has for the future she has goodbye.

 

“How’s school?”

 

Alana takes a bite of a cookie before she speaks, “It’s been great, actually. I’m keeping up with school just fine, and actually started to work on reading the book I was assigned to read this summer.”

 

Her grandma kind of frowns, “You haven’t finished it yet?”

 

“No?” she responds, because despite how smart she is, there’s no way she’d be able to finish the book within a couple hours. She clears her throat, realizing that that just might have come off as rude and continues, hoping that her coverup is enough. “I’ve just been busy with the whole moving thing and thought it’d be nice to give myself a little break. I think I’ve earned it.”

 

The response her grandma gives is this sort of challenging stare, and Alana tries not to let it show that she would mildly appreciate being pulled from existence right now if it meant she could avoid this.

 

It seems her grandma is done with their conversation, because she grabs the remote from the couch and turns it on, flicking through channels until she finally decides to stay on the one she was originally on: the news.

 

Alana isn’t a fan of the news, but her grandma hasn’t shown her which room they wanted her to stay in (during holidays, they are very specific about where they want everyone to be located), so she remains on the couch and continues to reach for cookies, offering comments every now and then-- which her grandma doesn’t seem to be a fan of. Alana’s not even sure she’s hearing her. When she glances over, she sees her grandma writing down in a notebook, sending dirty looks towards the tv every now and then as if it had just taken her first born.

 

She decides that maybe it’s not worth questioning right now.

 

* * *

 

 

“Alana!” her grandparents call from downstairs in unison. She’s not really in the mood to get up, had kind of planned on taking the day to herself to read. She’s got a whole list of books that she wants to finish reading during the summer, but they can wait a little longer.

 

She’s still got just under two months worth of the break left, it’ll be fine, she reassures herself. She ignores the voice in the back of her head that reminds her that her grandparents seem hellbent on taking away every ounce of free time she has. She’s lucky that she’s managed to at least finish her summer homework.

 

Or, most of it, at least. She still has to finish the map drawings assigned for AP Geography.

 

But she can do that later, she’s in no rush, she reassures herself as she makes her way down the stairs, sort of jogging.

 

Alana decides that jogging down the stairs is a bad idea, and that if she does it again, she needs to be a little more careful about it, because she ends up skipping a step or two.. Or four, to be exact.

 

On her way down the stairs, someone catches her, and it sure as hell isn’t either of her grandparents because there’s no way they managed to move _that_ quickly.

 

“Did you forget how to walk?” she hears her grandma scold, but she finds herself a little too distracted to respond as she takes a step back from the woman that has just saved her life.

 

Her hair is long and cut precisely, her face has this nice edge to it, and she’s got some eyeliner on and lipstick that compliments her tanned skin tone _really_ well.

 

And Alana decides to shove her extremely _not hetero_ thoughts deep deep down once she gets a look at the outfit she’s wearing.

 

She blinks a few times, and when she finally brings herself to focus back on reality, she doesn’t think she’s imagining the smirk on the woman’s lips.

 

Alana hears her grandma clear her throat, and she mentally curses at herself for being _such a lesbian but can you blame her this woman is really beautiful--_

 

“This is Aria,” her grandpa says, and Aria reaches out her hand, which Alana gladly shakes.

 

“Alana,” she says, and Aria nods.

 

“So i’ve been told.”

 

“We thought you could use a friend, and Aria seemed like such a kind soul,” interrupts her grandma.

 

She looks over at the two of them, and she doesn’t fail to miss the way her grandpa seems to be.. Observing the two of them. It looks like her grandma’s doing it too, but at least it’s a little more.. Subtly.

 

“I’ve heard plenty about you, the infamous Alana Beck,” Aria says, “How about we head out and get to know each other?”

 

Despite the whole.. Lesbianing so hard that even her grandma and grandpa can see it thing, there’s something kind of off about Aria.

 

“If that’s okay?” she directs the question towards the two elders in the room, and she has mixed feelings about this; she feels that any response she could possibly get from the two of them would leave her dissatisfied.

 

On one hand, she really needs an excuse to get out of here. She feels like the whole place is sucking the life out of her.

 

On the other? The weird vibes she’s getting from Aria are worrying, and she’d also like an excuse to decline her offer of hanging out. It sounds.. Sketchy.

 

“Just don’t be out late,” her grandpa grumbles, and she nods.

 

Aria grins and grabs a hold of Alana’s wrist, practically dragging her down the stairs.

 

“Careful,” she warns, because she’s not about to have another near-death experience.

 

Aria stops abruptly, turning to face her. “I’ll catch you when you fall, okay? We’ve got nothing to worry about.”  


And Alana nods, because that sounds nice. Really nice.

 

She thinks she could use some support in her life for once.

 

“Okay.”

 

They step out of the house, and the way Aria’s entire attitude seems to shift should really be something that convinces Alana to turn back around.

 

She doesn’t do that, and she takes a seat in the back of the car, because there’s someone in the front.

 

“Took you long enough!” The woman in the passenger seat exclaims with a grin, lightly elbowing Aria.

 

“I hope you don’t mind the third person?” Aria asks, and Alana knows this one is aimed towards her, because she makes direct eye contact with Alana through the mirror as she reverses out of the driveway.

 

“You didn’t bother to tell her?” Aria’s friend gasps, and even though she can only see the back of her head, there’s no doubt in her mind that she’s rolling her eyes right now.

 

She turns around to face Alana, and she’s got glasses on and has more chub to her. This one doesn’t give Alana the ‘potential murderer’ vibe, so she allows herself to relax and shake her hand.

 

“I’m Amelia.”

 

“Alana.”

 

“Alana,” she repeats, then nods, “I like it.”

 

“You’re creeping her out,” Aria sighs.

 

“ _I’m_ the one creeping her out?” Amelia repeats, her eyes wide, “She probably thought you were trying to seduce her, Jesus!”

 

“And you wouldn’t try to?” Is Aria’s response, laughing at Amelia’s dramatic gasp.

 

“Shit,” Amelia swears, then turns to face Alana, “God, I should probably mention that we’re dating? Just in case you have a problem with..”

 

“Oh, i’m positive she’s all for it,” Aria interrupts, meeting Alana’s gaze in the mirror and _winking._

 

“Aria.”

 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough, I know the drill,” she sighs. “Hey Alana?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How do you feel about letting us treat you to lunch?” her nose kind of scrunches up, “Your grandma tried feeding me oatmeal cookies and I had to physically keep myself from self-destructing on the spot because those are _gross.”_

 

“I don’t think her cooking’s that bad,” Alana defends, “But I can do lunch.”  


* * *

 

 

Hanging out with Amelia and Aria quickly becomes a routine. The two of them become actual friends who genuinely seem to care about her. She doesn't think that they’re forcing themselves to invite her anywhere. She doesn’t think she’s ever managed to come across someone who she doesn’t feel desperate to connect with. She doesn’t need to talk and talk and talk to get bare minimum human interaction. She feels heard, noticed.

 

Alana sits on the floor with a book in her hands on a Thursday evening while Amelia and Aria sit on the bed, both staring at a laptop and handing it back and forth.

 

She doesn’t want to think of the possibility of them talking behind her back, so she doesn’t.

 

It’s when Alana turns to the next page that Amelia speaks up, “Hey Lana? Wanna come look at this?”

 

“Be right there,” she tells them, looking at the page number and trying to commit it to memory. She’d forgotten her bookmark and doesn’t feel like wasting some paper-- and she sure as hell isn’t about the bend the corner of the page.

 

When she gets to the bed, Amelia practically shoves the laptop at her, and she can’t help but laugh.

 

“You want me to help you out with a game?”

 

“I remember your grandma telling me you’re a genius,” Aria informs her, sort of pouting, “So can you defend your honor and solve this puzzle?”

 

Alana looks between the two of them, and she just has to laugh again. Because of course, a week ago, she was half convinced that Aria was going to kidnap her and now here she is, in the apartment Aria and Amelia share, the both of them begging her to help them solve a puzzle of all things.

 

“I can try.”  
  
The puzzle is more difficult than she originally believed it to be, and she makes a note to never underestimate these two again, because of course they’re kind of genius in their own ways.

 

It isn’t until she starts asking for feedback that it finally starts to click.

 

It’s after they all collectively manage to figure it out that they agree they make a good team. Although, she believes that Amelia would have been able to solve it on her own; she’s smarter than she gives herself credit to. It kind of intimidates Alana.

 

* * *

 

 

Today, Alana’s sitting on the bed along with the couple, and the two of them are exchanging whispers and sending glances over to Alana, which she has come to learn usually means that they want to get together to form their unstoppable mental force or whatever they’re calling it.

 

She’s not even surprised when Amelia finally speaks up, “Alana?”

 

They don’t give her a chance to move this time, just shove the laptop onto her.

 

“Read that,” Aria tells her, and Alana kind of thinks back to when they first met-- this is that same fear, expect maybe a little more prominent.

 

She reads the article, and it doesn’t take too long to get why Amelia looked so devastated and why Aria looks kind of-- no, _very_ pissed.

 

It’s an article about a man who violated some children, done some very, _very_ terrible things to them, and got away with it.

 

“This is gross,” Alana tells them, handing the laptop back.

 

“I just can’t help but feel like so many people get away with this, you know?” Aria shakes her head, “If I had a say in it, i’d cut his dick off.”

 

Her and Amelia nod in agreement.

 

“It makes me sick to even think that there are people who get to ruin other people’s lives and get away with a warning,” Alana adds.

 

“If I had a say in it..” Aria begins to repeat, but trails off. Then, her eyes light up, “What if we could have it our way?”

 

“No,” Alana shakes her head, “That sounds very illegal.”

 

“I have to agree with Alana this time,” Amelia says.

 

“You’re saying you don’t think traumatizing a group of children isn’t illegal?” Aria frowns, “I wouldn’t call it illegal, just doing the government's job for free.”

 

“How would you even go through with that?” Amelia asks.

 

Aria taps her finger against her chin, and stops abruptly when it seems to click. She points to Alana, “Your grandparents.”

 

* * *

 

Alana has no idea how Aria has managed to sweet talk her grandpa into letting them into the basement, but she makes note of the situation just in case she happens to need a little help with convincing them to let her have more free time here.

 

When the door closes behind the three of them, Aria begins to speak.

 

“Your grandpa’s a freak. I’ve been down here a couple times.”

 

“Oh come on, don’t be rude,” Amelia frowns, “He just seemed a little.. Off.”

 

“No, he’s a freak,” Aria snorts, “He’s got some freaky shit down here,” she pauses, “And I don’t mean the kinky shit-- or I hope it’s not? There’s.. Way too much medical shit that he shouldn’t have in the first place.”  
  
Alana opens her mouth to try and defend her grandpa, but isn’t given the chance to before Aria flicks the light on.

 

And.

 

Shit.

 

Aria was right.

 

There are shelves filled with metals and tools, and there are plenty of surfaces with different things scattered across the top too.

 

Amelia picks up a needle and squints at it. Aria takes it from her.

 

What happens next makes her feel dizzy and lost. It makes whatever amount of safety she once felt around Aria disappear in an instant.

 

Because she takes the needle from Amelia and proceeds to jab her girlfriend in the neck. Alana’s frozen in place as she watches her collapse onto the ground.

 

She starts backing up from Aria, and swears under her breath when she bumps into a shelf. A knife comes and falls from the top, it skims Alana’s arm and she winces.

 

“I’m going to give you a once in a lifetime offer, Alana Beck,” Aria says, grabbing another needle from the table.

 

She can’t help but think this was planned. She should have seen it coming.

 

Aria moves toward her so quickly, what else is she supposed to anticipate aside from a sharp pain in the neck and a sudden darkness.

 

She would have never, in a million years, guessed that Aria was going to kiss her.

 

Alana tries to pull away, but Aria holds her there.

 

It feels wrong.

 

She feels sick.

 

“Get, get away-” she stammers out, shutting up when Aria brings the needle up.

 

“I like your brain. You exceeded the expectations I had for you,” she grins,it sits wrong on her face, “How attractive you are just happens to be a bonus, love.”

 

Alana shoves her back, “You have a girlfriend.”  


“Had,” Aria corrects, “I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve decided to break up with her.”  


“No,” Alana says firmly, her eyes fixed on the unconscious Amelia. She wants to get out of here, but she doesn’t want to leave Amelia to fend for herself. “I’m not interested.”

 

“What a shame,” Aria sighs, “But I can work with that. Absolutely.”

 

Aria grabs onto her wrist, “How do you feel about helping to make the world a better place?”

 

“No,” she repeats, “Not with you.”  
  
Aria frowns, but it morphs into this grin that makes her want to shrivel up and hide because it's just _that_ unsettling.

 

“You’re making this more difficult than it has to be, love,” she runs her index finger across Alana’s check, “It’d be a shame if someone messed with your father, don’t you?”

 

She swears she feels her heart stop. “You wouldn’t.”

 

“Oh, I would, dear. I would,” she confirms. “But that doesn’t have to happen. Come on, just help me out with a few things.”

 

Alana closes her eyes. She doesn’t know how she’s managed to hold herself together through all of this.

 

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s just a game, that’s all you’re doing love. Designing a game,” Aria tells her. It takes a lot of willpower for Alana not to snap at her.

 

“It’s more than that,” Alana says, rubbing at her eyes.

 

“Oh, don’t start crying now,” Aria groans.

 

“I’m exhausted.”

 

Aria takes the laptop away from Alana, sitting down in her lap. Alana tries not to comment on how uncomfortable it makes her.

 

“Would you like to know just who this game is for?”

 

“No.”

 

“You need a motivator,” she insists.

 

“I don’t.”

 

Aria clamps a hand over her mouth, and asks in a voice that reeks of forced joy, “Would you like to know just who this game is for?”  


She nods.

 

“You know they never found the person guilty of that car crash, right? Rumor has it that he ran off and hid.”

 

Alana freezes.

 

“Don’t tell me..”

 

“I just so happen to know where he is,” Aria confirms, tilting Alana’s chin up, “This is all for you love. Don’t you want to bring your parents the justice they deserve?”

 

She feels sick thinking about just how much that managed to motivate her.

 

But there’s this anger that’s been building up inside of her since the crash.

 

Her parents deserve this.

 

Maybe Aria is onto something.

 

Maybe there is something about doing what society can’t; something about potentially making people think twice before fucking up someone else’s life.

 

It’s all for the greater good, even if it’s a little cruel.

 

It just might be enough to change the world for the better, and that’s all she’s ever wanted to do.

 

Alana gets back to designing the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I messed up with names somewhere along the way, I probably did. I have no idea why I thought that three names beginning with A was going to be fun.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the past: Alana, part two

Aria shoves a mini stack of papers stapled together in front of her face. Alana frowns, and sort of stares at it before she finally reaches out to grab them. She decides that it’s probably better to actually read them to figure out what exactly they are.

 

“A script?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, “What for?”

 

Aria rolls her eyes, “The game, love.”  
  
“I see that,” Alana sighs, “I don’t understand why we’d need it? What’s the purpose in a script?”

 

“Simple, actually,” Aria hums, “The purpose is to be read.”  


“Aria.”

 

“Oh hush, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” she grins. Alana decides that it’s probably for the best if she doesn’t point out that trying to lighten the mood in this situation is near impossible. “Games have rules, right? Don’t you think players deserve to know what those are?”

 

“I don’t see why we need a script,” Alana tells her, hoping that it’s enough to urge her to get to the point.

 

Unfortunately, it seems to have the adverse effect.

 

“I’m a firm believer that games should be fair, don’t you agree?” Alana nods, and Aria continues, “And a fair game means that all players should be aware of the rules.”

 

“There’s no need for a script.”  
  
Aria shakes her head and huffs, “For how smart you are, there are times when you manage to blow me away with your stupidity, love.”   
  
She tries not to let on just how much that stings. She’s worked so hard to stay on top of everything, and no matter who she hears it from, hearing someone belittle her intelligence stings.

 

To add onto the whole creep vibe that Aria has going for her, she also seems to have a talent for distinguishing emotions despite how good Alana has gotten at compressing them over the years. It shouldn’t make her as uncomfortable as it does, but it makes her feel.. Violated, in a way. Her emotions are private and she’d appreciate it if Aria would understand just how much she hates feeling like someone’s seeing right through her.

 

No, Aria probably already does know that. What she wishes instead is that Aria would actually _care_ about the discomfort she’s causing.

 

She wishes she hadn’t found herself in this situation in the first place.

 

She should have just gone to stay with her brother. Even living in that bush she saw on the way and still doesn’t sound like much of a bad idea.

 

But now, here she is, helping this woman who thinks she can make the world a better place by bringing more pain and suffering into it because she doesn’t want anything to happen to her parents.

 

She’s protecting them though, right? She can be the hero of their stories and the villain of her own.

 

Though, it could easily be argued that Aria’s the antagonist in this story.

 

Alana doesn’t know why she’s trying to mentally defend her. Maybe it’s because she knows this kind of makes sense, it can be justified. She can be a hero to so many other people. She can become this unknown hero.

 

This isn’t heroic, it can’t be. She knows that. She knows that, at least, in her mind, this isn’t what a hero would do. But she keeps looking for ways to make this better for herself, to justify ruining someone else’s life in the hopes that it will better them.

 

“Earth to Alana,” Aria interrupts her thoughts, snapping her fingers.

 

Alana blinks, “Mind repeating that?”

 

She rolls her eyes, “I said nothing important, but I’m getting there, so listen up.”

 

When Alana responds with nothing more than a simple nod, she continues to speak. “You’re going to read this and use some of your smart person computer skills to modify your voice, sound good?”

 

“You want a recording of this? Don’t you think that’s a little too much?”

 

“Rules, Alana, rules!” She crosses her arms, “And no, I don’t think it’s too much at all. I think it’s barely skimming just enough. Unless you, Miss Knowitall, have a better suggestion, this is what I plan to stick with!”

 

“We could save ourselves some time by reading it to them when they wake up.”  
  
“And there’s that stupidity I was talking about,” Aria flicks her forehead, “The less of a risk we are at being identified, the better. These are _games,_ Alana, they could _win.”_

 

“How is that going to work out?” Alana wonders out loud. Aria seems to have deemed to conversation boring, because she stands and makes her way out of the room.

 

Alana takes the opportunity that shows itself to her advantage and opens up a word document, and takes a few notes, starts trying to find some poetic meaning in them, and gets to coming up with some mental design for the game she’s coming up within her head.

 

As soon as she can get out of here, she wants to use it.

 

If she’s going to allow Aria to turn her into a heartless monster, she’s going to make her wish she’d have thought twice about it.

 

She’s only got the beginnings of a game, but she thinks that she has enough time to put thought into it.

 

At the very least, she’s got a name picked out for it.

 

Ecdysis.

 

* * *

 

 

“You want me to set it up, too?” Alana barely managed to keep herself from yelling at Aria.

 

“I don’t see why not. You were the one who designed it, so I think you have a better grip on what the end result will be.”

 

“You haven’t done much of anything lately-” Alana starts, because she feels like all Aria’s done during this entire process is choose the player and then criticize her work along with her entire existence.

 

“I’ve done plenty,” Aria interrupts, “I think you should be thanking me for not making you bring him here, don’t you think?”

 

Alana opens her mouth to argue, but decides better against it. She doesn’t think she’d be able to hold herself together any longer if she had to go through with kidnapping someone. The guilt of knowing that she took a part in all of it, that she’s one of the reasons it will have happened in the first place.

 

She’s mad at the guy who caused the car crash, sure, but she doesn’t think it’s worth a life. She doesn’t think it’s worth it.

 

Shouldn’t the guilt that sits on his shoulders be enough to teach him that he should be a little more careful? Or what if it wasn’t even his fault? Her parents have to share at least a little bit of the blame, right?

 

Doesn’t matter. This man shouldn’t have to pay for his mistakes with his life.

 

“Aria?”

 

“Go on,” is all she responds with, not even sparing a glance in Alana’s direction. Alana thinks she has a right to be annoyed at that. Only in Aria’s world would scrolling through Twitter be more important than helping out a kid she’s scared into helping her out with her murder fetish.

 

“Is it really logical to make a game out vengeance? If this entire thing is focused around the idea of making the world a better place, I believe that punishing someone for reasons that are self-centered contradicts it.”

 

Aria kind of blinks, then laughs. She finally looks over at Alana to shake her head, leaving her phone on the bed as she stands from it and makes her way over to Alana.

 

“You’d think that, with those big and fancy sentences your brain just conjured up, you’d be a just a little brighter.”  


Alana tries to pretend that those words aren’t getting to her, that every time she hears them, she feels this sort of anger that she manages to quell with the thought that she can prove Aria wrong, that she can go above and beyond her expectations.

 

She doesn’t say anything out loud. Not that she believes it would have mattered if she did, because she’d bet on her life that Aria would have interrupted her. She does that too often.

 

She guesses she has no right to complain about that, considering she’s infamous for interrupting people before they even get the chance to spit out like, one word.

 

“Of course this isn’t just because you can’t find it in yourself to forgive him. That’s a game for yourself, love.”

 

Alana swears that her heart stops. Aria laughs.

 

“Of course I'm not going to put you through that right now. I still need that brain of yours to go through with this.”

 

She truly can’t tell which one she hates more. She feels like she’s already been thrown into a game of chess, and doesn’t like thinking about how she’s not in control of her own moves.

 

Aria walks towards a drawer and pulls a folder out, tossing it in Alana’s direction.

 

“Stephen Wells, twenty-seven years old, is infamously known for drunk driving,” Aria says, watching as Alana pulls the stack of papers out of the folder and inspecting them. It’s so obvious that this was something that Aria had in mind for much longer than she’s known Alana. She doesn’t think she could have compiled this much information in that time.

 

The two things that unsettle her the most is the fact that there are plenty of pictures of Stephen inside, along with plenty of personal information-- way too much.

 

“He has a family,” Alana points out, “He has kids.”

 

“Kids that he left, dumping the responsibility onto a single mother who had to drop out of college to focus on taking care of them full time,” Aria counters, “Though, I personally think that it’s best he left them, he’s also shown that he has a bit of a problem with his anger.”

 

Alana absentmindedly nods at her, her attention now focused on a report in her hands. She skims through it before she finally speaks up.

 

“You’ve talked with him?”

 

“Of course I have.”

 

“Wouldn’t that make you look a little more suspicious?”

 

“Oh no, not at all,” she shakes her head, “It was a very insignificant encounter, I’m sure he doesn’t even remember it.”  


“It..” Alana clears her throat, “I don’t know, Aria, this.. The questions you asked him don’t seem like normal questions. I think anyone with half a mind would be able to find that weird.”

 

“You let me worry about that, okay?” Aria snaps, “I didn’t ask you to help me with this just so you could tell me what I’m doing wrong. I know what the fuck I’m doing, I’m not an idiot.”

 

“I didn’t say you were,” Alana tries, “I need to ask questions so I can understand all of this. I don’t think I can do my best if I don’t have all the required information.”

 

“Well then it must be a relief to hear that it’s not information required for you to just sit down and add your final touches,” Aria shoots back.

 

So Alana finally decides to step down and listen. She’s almost finished with the design, anyways.

 

* * *

 

 

“I draw the line at watching it,” Alana informs Aria, kind of wishing her peripheral vision would just stop functioning correctly so she wouldn’t have to see Stephen, unconscious in a chair with a mask that faces the front and back of his head, spikes littering the inside of the contraption.

 

Aria likes to call it the Venus Fly Trap, because that’s what it’s inspired by.

 

“I’d like you to be here to watch our first game be played, I’ll be here to share the moment with you too,” she tells her, waving around a plastic bag.

 

Said plastic bag has Stephen’s _skin_ contained inside of it, in a puzzle piece.

 

Alana is a curious person, but she would rather not know what its purpose is.

 

“I recall you saying something about how risky it would be to be anywhere near this, because the player might see.”

 

“Yes, because I totally think someone is going to be able to identify either of us through a pair of eyes peeking at him through a hole in the wall,” Aria rolls her eyes, “I also think I said something about the lack of a need for you to worry about my decisions. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot.”

 

“I never said you were.”

 

“You’ve implied it,” Aria says, then cups a hand over to her mouth, holding a finger to her lips.

 

She doesn’t need to ask why, because the question lingering inside of her head is answered faster than she appreciates.

 

The game has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be going to New York on the 12th but! Other than that, I'm hoping to try for daily updates! (As long as my mental health allows it oops)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has changed his mind; he'd like to go back in time to sew his own damn mouth shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief mention of transphobia (another reason to hate Aria) in this one. Stay safe!

Is it childish to be a little excited about seeing Evan again? Probably. Is Connor going to care about it? Absolutely not. He thinks he deserves to act a little childish every now and then.

 

Also, he’s going to blame this excitement on the fact that he has quite literally been isolated from the rest of the world aside from Aria. He’s really fucking deprived of human interaction and, to his past self’s dismay, craves it so fucking badly it kind of hurts. Thinking about how he can just, talk to someone and not have to worry about receiving some kind of threat is so nice.

 

He’s had a few conversations with the other victims of the Nerve Gas House, but he wouldn’t really consider them valid conversations. Just the occasional greeting and, if he’s feeling up for it, he’ll ask them how their day’s been going.

 

His family is another story. They’re still a mess, but Larry seems to actually be putting an effort into not feeling like human garbage all the time. He can’t help but wonder if that’s an event that’s limited to his stay at the hospital. Thinking about it kind of makes him hesitant about leaving, but he’ll gladly put up with daily family arguments over being overworked and insulted and having to take a part in harming people who don’t fucking deserve it.

 

When Aria first brought him in, the people placed in the games were terrible, sure, and maybe they kind of did deserve something to sort of bitch slap them back into reality and ever (not) so gently pushing them into the direction of being a better person, but he could never talk himself into believing that they deserved death.

 

But as time went off, the victims that were chosen stopped making sense.

 

Oh, there’s a man that abuses his wife? Too bad, there’s a kid susceptible to diabetes indulging in maybe a little too much sugar? Kill them without hesitation.

 

He thinks it really started to get to him when Aria had tossed a folder in front of him of a trans kid.

 

_ “Oh fuck off, Aria, there’s nothing bad about her.” _

 

Aria had rolled her eyes and pulled a gun on him; he doesn’t know when the action stopped doing its job.

 

_ “Connor, don’t tell me you believe in his little act.” _

 

That had done it, he wasn’t going to fucking sit there and let Aria punish someone for literally just being themselves. He made a split second decision and grabbed the gun from her hands, pointing it back at her.

 

She hadn’t reacted, only held her arms up and laughed at him.

 

_ “Do it. Set yourself free from here just to throw yourself into another cage.” _

 

Aria is the one person in this world that Connor wholeheartedly believes doesn’t deserve another chance. That doesn’t mean he didn’t hesitate. It was when Aria went to grab the gun from him that his finger had slipped, and his heart stopped for a second.

 

But there had been no loud noise, just a click.

 

There’s a timid knock on the door, and it’s just enough to drag him out of his head.

 

Good, it’s probably best that he try to avoid those for now. It’s all blurred together and they’re all associated with pain and he’s trying to prove to the hospital that he’s getting better right now and allowing himself to spiral into some sort of breakdown isn’t going to help with that at all.

 

“Come in,” he calls out, and not too long after, Evan is walking inside, and it looks like he’s kind of struggling to hold the laptop. He kind of waddles towards the bed and places it down, then proceeds to sort of shake his arm.

 

“I should have had my mom bring it in a bag,” Evan frowns, “Trying to carry a laptop with one arm isn’t fun. It slipped on my way here and my foot saved it.”

 

Connor kind of winces at the thought, “Maybe I should’ve come to get it?”

 

“No, it’s okay. I need the exercise,” Evan says, then sits down, “Can we get the Jigsaw thing out of the way now? I just.. The sooner we get this done, the faster I can let myself sleep.”   
  


Connor kind of stares at Evan, only now noticing just how exhausted he looks. He doesn’t point it out, though, because Evan has been kind enough to not bother pointing out any of the many things that are oh so obviously wrong with Connor.

 

“Right,” he says, blinking a few times as he turns to open the laptop.

 

It doesn’t turn on.

 

He frowns and looks back over to Evan.

 

“The charger?”

 

Evan kind of jolts, and he looks like he’s just had some Red Bull and Coffee concoction to help him cope with the lack of sleep-- or, in other words, it looks like he’s got a little more energy, but he still looks really exhausted.

  
  


“Shit, I forgot to ask,” he kind of flinches away from Connor, holding his arm up defensively, as if he’s waiting for some kind of attack, “I’msosorry it’s just, my mind is everywhere lately and I guess I just couldn’t.. couldn’t.. Th-think to,” Evan pauses and closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and tries again.

 

“I forgot about the charger,” Evan says simply, “I’m so sorry, I can, I can call my mom right now, okay? I just- it wasn’t, that wasn’t something I did on purpose. I know how serious this whole thing is and I just, my stupid brain can’t seem to work with me right now and I really am sorry but I’ll just, I’ll call my mom right now.”

 

And then Evan’s standing up and speed walking out of the room. It’s only when he’s a step away from the door that Connor speaks up.

 

“NO.”

 

He says that a little too loudly, if the echo of his voice is anything to go by. He absolutely wishes he could go back in time just to backhand himself before he could get the chance to unintentionally raise his voice at Evan and make him just so high that Connor’s considering asking him if his trip to Mars was fun.

 

He kind of laughs at himself, and would like to request another opportunity to go back into time and smack himself because Evan looks very scared and kind of hurt.

 

“Shit, sorry,” he says, making sure that he actually pays mind to the volume of his voice, “It’s okay, you can ask your mom later on, yeah?”

 

Evan nods, still seeming a little on edge.

 

“I,” Connor starts, then takes a deep breath. He really doesn’t like admitting this out loud, and there’s a voice in the back of his mind that’s reminding him that, for the past year, being vulnerable with his emotions usually led to some threat or punishment.

 

So, he thinks he has a pretty fucking valid reason to not want to do this, and he knows that Evan’s probably not going to ever understand that, or even hear about it, but he’s at least trying to keep himself from getting more frustrated than he needs to be with himself.

 

“Can you stay?” He asks in a rush, frowning at himself, and he’s about to try to say that again, but a hell of a lot slower this time, but Evan beats him to it.

 

“Are you sure? I don’t- I don’t want you to feel like you have to hang out with me, I’m sure Amelia would understand that too and I’m absolutely, 100% capable of taking care of myself and even if Jigsaw does get to me I don’t think I even have the energy to care anymore so really, it’s fine-”

 

“I want you to stay,” Connor interrupts, “Can we forget about the whole ‘we nearly died because someone out there really gets off on watching people have to struggle to keep their lives’ thing? Can we just talk?”

 

Evan’s kind of staring at him like he’s waiting for Connor to laugh in his face, he doesn’t look like he believes it.

 

“I really don’t have to stay if you don’t want me to,” Evan tells him, “I’m okay with it, really. I think I’ll be okay.”

 

“Fuck, I don’t want you to think I’m forcing you to stay-”

 

“No! Nonono, I want to stay, I- it’s just, why do you want to talk with me? I..i’m the kid who lied about you. I benefited from you going missing and that’s, you shouldn’t, I don’t think you want to talk to me,” Evan’s slowly but surely inching his way towards the door again.

 

“Okay, but when the fuck did I give you permission to tell me how I should think?”

 

Evan’s eyes are wide, and he’s shaking his head so violently that Connor’s sure it’s giving him a headache. “No, no I didn't’- I didn’t mean to do that at all oh my god I’m sososo sorry-”

 

“It’s fine,” Connor cuts him off, and he knows that he did so a little too harshly. He decides that he’ll maybe apologize for it later. “Do you want to stay and talk or not?”

 

Evan, who still seems way too frightened, nods and stiffly makes his way over back to the chair, promptly sitting down. He doesn’t speak. Connor doesn’t either, because he’s sort of at a loss for words.

 

He only manages to maintain his silence until he realizes that Evan’s shaking.

 

“Fuck-” he blurts out, “Fuck, I didn’t mean to scare you. Shit. I’m sorry.”

 

The only response he gets is a very brief glance before Evan’s eyes meet the floor again. Connor figures he should at least be thankful that Evan even bothered to acknowledge him.

 

“I uh, this whole communicating like an actual fucking person thing? That’s not something I’ve ever been good at, but fuck, spending a year in a place where you’ve practically been isolated from everyone does shit to you,” he tries for a laugh and then immediately wishes he hadn’t just because of how forced it sounds, “I could really use some actual human interaction for once.”

 

Evan finally looks back up at him, it doesn’t go unnoticed to Connor that he’s digging his fingernails into his palm, but he opts not to say anything. He’s not actively trying to scare Evan off.

 

“It’s.. it’s okay,” Evan nods, and he reaches out to rest his hand on Connor’s, “I’m sorry that you, that you had to go through all of that.”

 

He rolls his eyes, “You say that like you didn’t just nearly fucking die too.”   
  


“I didn’t mean it like that!” Evan shakes his head, “I just.. I think that what you had to go through was a little more.. Intense?”   
  


“Are you trying to tell me that cutting your own arm off isn’t intense?”

 

Evan tenses up, and Connor has changed his mind; he’d like to go back in time to sew his own damn mouth shut.

 

“Fuck, sorry,” he runs a hand through his hair, “Change of topic?”

 

“Please?”

 

Connor kind of hums, then grins triumphantly, “How about a game?”

 

Then he winces because that does  _ not  _ sound good and Evan had just asked him to stay away from the topic, fuck.

 

Evan kind of laughs nervously, “Sure, if you can explain it to me.”

 

“Shit, okay, so I’m totally stealing this from a book so I have no idea what it’s called and chances are I don’t even remember the rules correctly but, I think it’s supposed to go where like, one of us has to ask the other a question and then the other has to answer and end with a question. I think they used, like, a three strikes and you're out type of thing?”

 

“Okay,” Evan says, nodding, “I think I can handle that.”

  
  
“I’m starting,” Connor announces, and Evan seems content to hear that, so he doesn’t feel guilty about continuing, “Uh, favorite color?”

 

“Green,” Evan answers immediately, "Is it okay to ask the same question?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Then Evan grins, and he looks so excited and kind of looks like a kid on Christmas morning and Connor finds the reason to be kind of ridiculous.

 

"Strike one," he informs him, and Connor can't keep himself from laughing.

 

"Damn, brutal."

 

"I didn't actually plan that out," Evan tells him, "It was just luck."

 

"Sure it was," he snorts, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

 

"It really wasn't planned-" Evan starts, but Connor cuts him off.

 

"Do you plan on asking me a question?"

 

"Yeah, I- yeah, sorry," Evan answers, then his eyes go wide and he blurts out his next few words before Connor can call him out on his failure to ask a question, "Uh, uh, uh- favorite uh, favorite.. sports team?"

 

"I don't have one. Do I really look like the kind of guy to like sports?"

 

"No! No, I just, it was the, the first question that came to mind. "Cats or dogs?"

 

"Cats all the way," Connor says, "What about you?"

 

"Don't make me choose," Evan pleads, "Do you remember what book you stole this game from?"

 

Connor's just about to answer his question when there's a knock on the door, followed by it opening and a nurse walking inside.

 

"Your dad's come to visit," she informs him, in an overly cheerful tone.

 

"Right now?" Connor asks her, not bothering to care about just how childish he sounds. "Can't he wait?"

 

"No," Evan interrupts, "I can leave, it's okay."

 

He'd very much like to riot right now. In fact, he's definitely considering telling Larry to fuck off because he'd have had to lose his mind to prefer talking to Larry over the very fucking ridiculous let's-get-to-know-eachother game he'd been playing with Evan.

 

"Can I visit tomorrow?" Evan asks him, and Connor can feel the anger building up inside of him. He's aware of just how ridiculous it is to get  _ this  _ frustrated over something insignificant, so he doesn't bother to say anything about it. He just nods, and Evan speedwalks out of the room.

 

Whatever Larry says to him when he walks in goes right over his head. He's not listening. He's too stupidly angry to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is,,, self indulgent oops.  
> There's more Alana POV shazzam coming, I'm just trying to be a cool kid™ and do that thing where I can put the past and present together in a way that makes it look like I properly thought this all through.
> 
> Also, call out post @ me: claims to try for daily updates and then proceeds to almost forget the next day


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan gets mad at Heidi.

Evan’s partaking in his latest hobby of staring at the ceiling and letting his thoughts overwhelm him until he feels floaty and weird and disconnected from the world when there’s a knock on his door, and it’s so unexpected that he kind of jumps. It’s a miracle he hadn’t ended up falling out of the bed.

 

“Come in,” he calls out while trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

 

A voice in the back of his head that sounds a hell of a lot like Dr. Sherman reminds him that he should probably focus on his breathing, but he ignores it because breathing attempts never help him. He’ll still try every now and then, hoping he’ll get different results than the previous time, and doesn’t know why he bothers to get disappointed when it only seems to cause him more panic because the moment he starts thinking about his breathing he can’t stop because then he just might stop breathing and then his heart decides that it would also like some attention and gets very loud and a loud heart means he’s panicking but he can’t be panicking if he’s using the breathing techniques-

 

“Evan?” a voice interrupts his thoughts, and it takes a moment for whose voice that belongs to and he feels more than a little guilty for it because it’s his  _ mom  _ and how the hell does he manage to forget his own mother’s voice?

 

“Yeah?” He responds, blinking. His vision is kind of off right now, probably because of his lack of blinking.

 

Great, now he’s going to start thinking about it every time he blinks, and when that happens, he usually gets headaches that he really could have avoided in the first place because he blinked too much but it’s either that or let his vision blur more and then have to blink so much that his mom would probably think he’s got some weird medical condition.

 

“You seem a little out of it, are you okay?”

 

He gives her a meek shrug, because he is very much not okay and really can’t think of a time where he did feel okay since  _ losing his arm  _ and  _ killing his stepsister  _ in like, three months.

 

“I saw d- Mark. I saw Mark the other day,” he tells her, not sure if he brought it up to her during her last visit.

 

He feels like he should probably be worried about just how terrible his memory seems to be becoming, but he’ll bother with worrying about big and scary things like that when he has the energy to do so. Until then, he’d like to stick to worrying about small and insignificant things.

 

Given how wide her eyes get, he must not have told her. He’s thankful for that, he doesn’t want to have to get his head checked or whatever because he brought up a conversation topic that he already did the previous day.

 

He watches as her surprise morphs into anger, and then back into concern.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks in a rush, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it, “Did he come in here and bother you? I can talk to someone about it to make sure it doesn’t happen-”

 

“No, he didn’t, he didn’t come in here,” Evan interrupts, and this one of the few occasions where he doesn’t feel guilty about doing so, “I was just, I was going to hang out with Connor and bumped into him?”

 

Heidi opens her mouth and then shuts it, there’s no doubt in his mind that she’s a little nervous about saying whatever’s on her mind right now, but before he has the chance to ask her about it, she’s speaking up.

 

“I know I sound terrible, but are you sure you can handle being around Connor right now? You’ve just been through so much, and i’m happy to see that you’ve got a friend, but that’s just a lot to handle, don’t you think?” Heidi asks, “I mean, you thought he was dead for a year and then remeet him in that setting. That.. it sounds like a lot.”

 

Evan’s more than a little offended, and rightfully so.

 

He doesn’t know what his mom knows about the Connor situation now, he thinks she still believes that they were friends; he’d had plenty of nightmares that focused around the idea of him actually coming clean with the truth, and he just ended up having so many that he just might have managed to convince himself that it actually happened.

 

“We were already friends,” He reminds her, and either she doesn’t have the energy to call him out on being a pathetic liar or she truly does have no clue what the truth is because she nods.

 

“I know, honey, I know. I still think that maybe it would be better to give yourself some time to recover before you jump back into..” she trails off, and Evan is promptly reminded that, with the whole faked email thing that went on, he and Jared had made a mistake along the way that resulted in plenty of people believing that they were not friends, but ‘secret gay lovers,’ as Jared had worded it.

 

It might be a little ridiculous to be getting a little mad at his mom for this, but he also thinks that it’s ridiculous that she brought up her worries about her hanging out with Connor in the first place, so.

 

“Honey, I, I didn’t mean it like that,” she tells him, and he must look a little mad or down or whatever, because she sounds a little worried.

 

Evan decides he doesn’t really want to talk about it anymore, he’s not about to argue with his mom, but her words aren’t going to stop him from talking to Connor.

 

“Did you bring the charger?”

 

Heidi seems a little disappointed in the change of conversation, but otherwise doesn’t say anything about it. He’s thankful for that much. She nods at him and reaches into her bag, handing it over to him. Then, she takes out her phone, probably to check the time, and sighs.

 

“I need to get going,” she says apologetically, and he decides that it’s best not to say anything to her in return because he’s more than a little mad right now and his feelings towards the fact that she always seems to prioritize work over him aren’t helping to calm him down.

 

His mom lets out a resigned sigh and then kisses his forehead before walking out.

 

He goes back to staring blankly at the roof and hating himself and letting his emotions overwhelm him but not allowing himself to express them properly because all he seems to be good for is hating himself, because if he wasn’t a professional self loather then Jigsaw wouldn’t have bothered with him more than once.

 

He’s pretty fucking sure that if he just continues to lay here and hate himself, he won’t even have to try putting any thought into trying to off himself because Jigsaw seems hellbent on doing that for him.

 

Everytime he lets his mind wander to the games-- to the traps, the more he begins to believe that he didn’t deserve to get out of there. He needs to stop being so fucking selfish with this whole “i want to live” thing, because clearly he can’t bring himself to do that.

 

He can’t bring himself to live with the guilt that keeps piling up and up and up and it’s crushing him, squeezing the life out of him.

 

Evan doesn’t think he deserves the privilege of referring to himself as a person, because he’s far from; he’s a monster he’s a monster he’s a monster. Only a monster would allow himself to listen to someone else get killed and then kill his little sister a couple months later.

 

He doesn’t realize just how far from himself he feels until he’s being pulled into reality by the knock on the door. He thinks he’s decided that he doesn’t like the noise, it’s too sudden and a little too loud for the quiet room.

 

He doesn’t have a chance to answer before Connor’s walking in, carrying a bag in one hand and his laptop in the other.

 

Oh.

 

He doesn’t remember asking Connor to meet him in here. Huh.

 

“I needed to get around,” Connor explains, “Needed a reason to get out of bed for something other than the bathroom. I am so fucking tired of this place.”

 

Evan blinks a couple times. He still feels kind of out of it, like he’s detached from his emotions.

 

“Me too,” he tells him, then he remembers that he’s still holding the charger cord that his mom gave to him, and extends his arm to give it to Connor, who takes it and plugs his laptop in.

 

Then, he sets the bag he was carrying on the bed and pulls out a couple of candy bars, offering one to Evan, who takes one with hesitance.

 

“You would not believe who bought these for me,” Connor starts with a grin.

 

Connor’s smile is contagious, and Evan finds himself smiling back at him. He’s starting to feel a little less fake.

 

“Who?”

 

“My mom.”   
  


If Evan were drinking anything, there’s no doubt in his mind that he would’ve ended up spitting it out in shock. “You’re kidding.”

 

“Couldn’t make it up if I tried,” Connor shrugs.

 

“No, no, you definitely made that up,” Evan protests, “At least, there’s no way she could bring herself to buy anything that tastes good.”

 

It’s only once he’s actually said it that he realizes just how rude that sounded, and he’s preparing himself to win a world record for the world's longest apology said in one breath when Connor starts laughing.

 

“Shit, that was brutal,” he wheezes.

 

“I’m sor-”

 

“Nope!” Connor interrupts, “I’m not hearing you apologize for that. That was the fucking best.”

 

“But-”

 

“That’s still a nope!”

 

Evan sighs, and figures that this just isn’t a battle he isn’t going to win.

 

“Are we going to check out the laptop?” he asks instead.

 

Connor kind of frowns, then proceeds to glare at the aforementioned object as if it had personally offended him.

 

“Later,” Connor tells him, and Evan nods because he thinks that, even if this is all serious, they still deserve a little break.

 

Anyways, he doesn’t think that they’re in much of a rush. If they’re planning on taking out some sort of criminal mastermind (or multiple) then they need time to think through all of it, right? Because what point is there in rushing into all of it?

 

“How about continuing the game?” He asks as he finally opens the KitKat Connor gave him.

 

Connor’s eyes get wide, and he nods, “Hell yeah we are, I’m not letting you get away with thinking you won just because my asshole of a dad had to come in and ruin it.”

 

“Who’d we leave off with last time?” he asks.

 

“No idea,” Connor shrugs.

 

Evan grins and watches as realization sets in on his face and he makes sure to speak a little quicker before Connor asks him some other question.

 

“Strike two!”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Connor snorts. “You really are brutal, damn.”

 

Evan shakes his head, “I swear I didn’t realize that it was an opportunity until I was saying it,” he tells Connor, because it’s true.

 

He’s just happened to get very lucky so far.

 

There are times when he absolutely despises his brain and there are times like now when he actually really appreciates its existence.

 

It’s kind of silly to get excited over winning some silly, nameless game, but he deserves this.

 

“I don’t know where we left off,” Connor says, answering his question from earlier, “Dumbest thing you’ve done?”

 

“The Connor Project,” Evan answers immediately, because it truly is his biggest mistake yet-- actually no, he’s got plenty of things he’s done that were the same level of dumb, but that’s the first one that comes to his mind, and maybe it’s because the person who the entire project was dedicated to is standing right in front of him.

 

He doesn’t get around to asking him a question in return, but Connor doesn’t call him out on it.

 

“You know I’m not mad about that, right?”

 

“No, that, that, doesn’t make sense, you have every reason to be mad at me. It was stupid and dumb and useless and I shouldn’t have let myself get dragged into it, I really shouldn’t have, but I’m such a mess and I couldn’t bring myself to get your parents to listen to me and then suddenly Jared was helping me write fake emails and Alana was helping us fund this whole thing for an orchard and I don’t even know if you even liked the place, Connor, but it’s there for you and I really fucked up and completely understand if you hate me for it. I know I do.”

 

There’s a silence, and Evan’s anxiety is getting the best of him, telling him that Connor’s going to get up and leave and they’ll never speak again and Evan will finally have to come clean about all of it and his mom will kick him out and he’ll be living on the streets and since he has absolutely no talent, no one would give him money to help pay for something to eat because he wouldn’t have eaten in days. Though, honestly, it’s bold for himself to even bother believing in the first place that he’d go somewhere where the public could see him. He’d probably go hide out somewhere in the forest and then some bear would come along and eat him and that would be that. Or maybe Jigsaw would track him down and drag him into some other game that he wouldn’t even bother participating in because he wouldn’t have anywhere to go or anyone to talk to.

 

“Evan?”

 

Oh right, Connor’s still there. He didn’t leave?

 

“What? Why would I leave?”

 

Huh, looks like he said that out loud. He’s thankful that he didn’t sputter out that whole self deprecation thing out, at least.

 

“Do you need me to leave?” Connor asks, and he’s already standing up.

 

“No,” he says abruptly, quietly, shaking his head. He doesn’t think he can handle being alone right now.

 

Well, he can, he’s done it so many other times in the past, but he just really prefers not to.

 

But Connor probably thinks he’s so weird and maybe that’s why he seemed so eager to just walk out the door before even waiting for a response from Evan. Maybe he feels like talking to Evan is some kind of chore and needed a reason to get out of here instead of having to waste any more of his precious time on Evan and he’s so so so selfish because now Connor probably feels like he has to stay with Evan and just wants to seem like a nice person and Evan doesn’t want to do that.

 

“You don’t have to stay,” he tells him.’

 

“Yeah, uh, I think I’m staying,” and then he sits back down, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to uh, to cause this?”

 

Evan kind of laughs, Connor thinks he caused this? He wishes it was just that simple to answer, to correct him, because he is so wrong.

 

“Can you try breathing with me?” Connor asks him, and Evan only agrees to do it because he feels bad enough for wasting his time and maybe he can make up for it by just doing this one simple thing for once in his pathetic life.

 

Connor counts with him, and Evan follows along.

 

He doesn’t plan on admitting out loud that it helped, because with his luck, Dr. Sherman’s going to climb out from under the bed and hit spray him with vinegar and laugh and say “I told you so” because he really did tell him but he refuses to let his therapist get the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

 

“Thank you,” Evan says once he’s calmed down and his head isn’t so loud.

 

“You literally don’t need to thank me for that. Again, pretty sure I caused that one.”

 

“No, no you really didn’t,” Evan tells him, “It was just, everything’s a lot right now.”

 

Connor nods, “Yeah, I get that.”

 

“I’m a murderer,” he spits out, his brain telling him that he needs to let Connor know this even though the moment he hears it he’ll probably block Evan out of his life forever.

 

But Connor doesn’t leave, and instead says, “I worked with Jigsaw for a year. I am too.”

 

He shouldn’t take comfort in that.

 

But he does.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Connor’s handing him a tissue, which he gratefully takes.

 

“You up for talking about it?” Connor asks, and Evan shakes his head.

 

“I don’t think I can right now.”

 

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone so understanding in his life.

 

“I don’t think I can either.”   
  


“Okay.”

 

“Oh, and Evan?” Connor starts.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You’ve answered like, five questions and didn’t ask one back,” Connor grins, “And I think that means I win.”

 

Evan doesn’t think he has the energy to truly get back at that, and probably wouldn't have been able to bring himself to it even if he did.

 

“You play dirty.”

 

“What can I say? I learned from the best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've developed a very bad habit and refusing to write until like 10pm and then proceeding to get distracted by every little thing.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana meets Julian Paine.

Aria doesn’t let her stop watching when it’s obvious Stephen isn’t going to make it.

He’s got access to only so much time before the trap closes in and crushes his skull, and time feels a little too weird for her liking right now. It’s so incredibly slow and she feels like she’s picking up on more details than a person should, but it happens so quickly.

 

One second, Stephen is alive, with this weird contraption surrounding his head and panicking because he’s on a one-minute timer and has to dig into his eye for the key out of the device.

 

“No no no no-” Stephen screams, and she knows that he’s also painfully aware that his time is almost up. It makes her heartbreak.

 

It happens too fast, because suddenly it’s silenced, and she watches in horror as the body falls to the ground.

 

She can’t stop staring.

 

She can’t move.

 

This. She did this. It was her fault.

 

“Huh,” says Aria, and Alana truly does not know how she can be so unbothered by all of this.

 

What makes a person so numb to witnessing the death of another human being?

 

It’s only when she collapses onto the ground and hugs her knees so closely to herself that it hurts, that she realizes she’s shaking.

 

She can’t seem to stop it.

 

She wants to go back home. She wants to go and invent some time machine and convince herself to never go to her grandparents’ house. It’s not worth it. This isn’t worth it.

 

Aria sighs, and Alana can only imagine that she’s rolling her eyes before she leans down at Alana’s level. She puts a hand on her knees and pushes them down, and that motion is so gentle that she almost forgets who it is.

 

“Lana, honey, I’m sorry,” Aria leans in, and she rubs away some of the tears that she hadn’t even been aware she was shedding until attention had been brought onto them.

 

She feels so completely and utterly pathetic. She’s Alana Beck, she’s supposed to be strong.

 

“Alana?” Aria starts to get her attention, and she looks up at her, “I’m really, really sorry love. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just.. I got carried away with it, you know?”

 

She nods because she does know. She gets carried away with many things, which is why she usually ends up doing the entirety of group projects when assigned to do so.

 

“You didn’t need to see that, not yet,” Aria shakes her head, “I have a place in mind too that I’m sure will cheer you right up, does that sound good?”

 

“No,” she says firmly. She doesn’t want to be around Aria anymore, she needs this to end.

 

She watches as Aria facade drops, and it’s more than just a little unsettling to see her go from someone who cares and wants to make everything better to the same monster that dragged her into this.

 

She needs to get out of here. She’s smart, she could use that to her advantage, right? Get out and get to her parents before Aria has time to process any of it. After all, Aria said she needs her help, right?

 

Alana's smart, that's why she got into this, and she can get out.

 

"Have I told you just how much I hate to have to make threats towards you?" Aria asks her with a frown.

 

"I highly doubt that."

 

Alana is hit with instant regret, and a foot, firmly in the stomach. She gasps, wrapping her arms around herself as if it had any shot at getting rid of the stinging.

 

"Alana," Aria starts, and her tone is much more warning now. When she looks up, she sees that the other is grinning. It looks a hell of a lot less convincing than earlier, "How about you say we go somewhere to help cheer you up?"

 

“I said no,” Alana repeats, and she gets up, trying to ignore the dull ache.

 

“Alana, dear,” and it’s so unsettling to think of how her voice continues to become more and more unsettling with each word she spits out, “I really don’t want to be arguing with you right now.”  
  
“Goodbye, Aria,” Alana says instead of trying to bother pointing out that she was the one who was turning all of this into an argument. She turns to leave, even pushing past Aria. She feels pride swell up inside her chest before it’s replaced with fear and all she can think of is the sudden pain that overwhelms her as she hears a loud buzzing noise and hits the ground.

 

A taser, she realizes when it finally stops, gasping for air and trying not to cry because she can’t.

 

She’s strong, she can get out of this. She can walk away from this even if that means she’s going to get tased a time or two. It’s probably the very least of what she deserves for taking part in the dead body sitting in a pool of blood in the very next room.

 

She hears a sigh as she clambers to get up, and then she’s kicked to the ground again.

 

She’s strong, she can do this even if that means hurting a little. It’s so simple, just get up and walk out.

 

And when she tries again, Aria kicks her. She coughs.

 

“Come on love, it’s a simple offer.”

 

“I can’t do this, it’s not for me.”

 

This time, she kicks her head, and it goes slamming into the wall. There’s a ringing in her ears and the world is spinning, kind of blurry too.

 

“Lana love, come on! We can meet with friends!” Her voice is filled with optimism so faked that it makes her want to gag.

 

So she does, and leans over to throw up on the floor.

 

“I’ll clean that up, okay?”

 

Alana nods.

 

She’s a strong person, but maybe this just isn’t something she can walk away from. But that’s okay, she’s smart too. She’ll think of something else.

 

She has to.

 

* * *

 

 

They do not end up going out to eat.

 

Instead, Aria drives past all of that and they end up in some parking lot of a Kmart that closed like, six months ago. It has that eerie abandoned property feel to it and the thing that adds on to the whole thing is that there’s another car in the parking lot-- right next to them, in fact.

 

Of course Aria doesn’t seem all that bothered by it, she gets out of the vehicle and urges Alana to do the same. She still feels a little (a lot) dizzy and anxious and just, terrible in general, but she listens.

 

Whoever’s in the car next to theirs gets out too, if the sound of a door opening is anything to go by.

 

The next extremely sketchy thing that she decides to list inside of her head would be that the person who happens to get outside of the car is a man in a plain t-shirt who has very broad shoulders and, judging by just how terrifyingly muscular his arms are, could easily start a fight against the two of them and come out of it unscathed.

 

It’s not the nicest thing to judge people by their looks, but maybe if she had done that when she met Aria, she wouldn’t be standing here, with the world spinning around her and a chest that hurts because of the crimes she has just committed.

 

“Aria!” The man calls out to her in an overly cheerful voice. She doesn’t think it sounds _too_ forced and takes note of it.

 

“The infamous Julian Paine, it’s been too long,” Aria smirks, opening her arms up for a hug.

 

Julian, as it turns out, is a very enthusiastic hugger. He wraps his arms around Aria and lifts her off the ground, Alana kind of winces when she hears the way her back cracks.

 

“It has, it really has,” he tells her after he puts her down. Then, he gestures towards Alana, “And who have you brought along on this fine…” he squints down at the watch on his wrist, “Afternoon.”

 

“Alana Beck.”

 

Julain’s eyes grow wider, and Alana is _very_ unsettled to think about just why he looks like he’s so familiar with her name.

 

How many people know about her?

 

And why?

 

“And here you were, trying to make me the star of the party?” Julian asks, feigning offense, “It’s so nice to meet you, I'm Julian.”

 

“Alana Beck.”

 

“The one and only,” he responds with a wink.

 

“Thank you?”

 

Then, Julian’s mood seems to shift slightly, “Have you done your tests yet?”

 

“Tests?” she repeats, unsure if she’d misheard him.

 

Aria laughs, “She doesn’t need them, not when she’s the new boss.”

 

“Boss?” she asks. Maybe she should get her ears checked.

 

“That’s you,” Aria grins, “A part of our little family.”

 

“Hell yeah!” Julian cheers, “That absolutely calls for some celebratory food.”  


Aria rolls her eyes.

 

“You know I’m right.”

 

“Of course you are, dork.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Where’s Amelia?” Julain asks once they’ve all sat down in the buffet, Julian’s plate is piled into a mountain.

 

Her heart kind of drops at the mention of Amelia. Aria hadn’t really given her the chance to bring it up, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been pathetically curious as to where she ended up.

 

“Home,” Aria replies simply.

 

“Home as in home-home or home as like, the meetup area?”

 

“Original meet up area,” she answers, “I’ve got a second one for a long term game I intend on operating.”

 

“Oh?” Julian responds, leaning in closer, “And who’s the subject?”

 

Alana takes note of that too. That has to mean that this has been going on longer. She can’t think of any other reason as to why Julian doesn’t seem at all bothered by this, and she makes note of that too. Julian’s dangerous.

 

“Undecided,” she says decisively, “But I’ve run into the two of them a time or two and think that the two of them should undergo trials.”

 

Julian groans, “Do you know just how long it takes up to set those things up? Is the complexity of it all really worth it?”

 

“They’re a very complex pair,” she grins. “I’ve also got a ‘group project’ in the works.”

 

“Oh hell yeah,” Julian grins, “Pain in the ass to get them all, but it’s like killing six birds with one stone.”

 

“You’ll be thrilled to hear that it will be a group trial.”

 

Julian fixes her with a death glare, then turns towards Alana, “What are your thoughts, boss?”

 

Alana shakes her head, “I want no part in this.”

 

“It’s a little crazy, yeah,” Julian says, nodding like he understands her, “But it’s a good cause. We’re doing something life-changing.”

 

“It’s life ruining,” Alana corrects, “Cruel and inhuman.”

 

“Welcome to the real world, love,” Aria chimes in, “It’s disgusting, and we have to clean it up somehow.”

 

“I’d like to suggest you take a look at the ocean,” Alana tells her, “Cleaning that up wouldn’t harm anyone.”

 

“Yes, and why not bring up air pollution while we’re at it?” Aria pokes Alana’s check a bit too harshly for it to be a friendly gesture, “Things like that need to be stopped at the source. We target whoever’s in charge and keep doing it until they get someone with some respect for the planet, yeah?”

 

“Instead of making them face a very cruel and gruesome death, why can’t we-”

 

“What? Wait until we’re already too late? We need to do something now.”

 

“Then why are you preying on people who have nothing to do with big corporations?”

 

“Humanity is still disgusting,” interrupts Julian, who had apparently left at some point during their conversation to go get another plate with a mountain of food on top. So much for being observant. “I like to say that, in a way, what we’re doing is speaking for the dead, making sure their voices are heard. I know that if someone took my life, I’d want some unknown hero to get my revenge. Also, just, if someone ruined my life. Like an abusive father? Yeah, I’d want him to pay for that too. If someone did what we’re doing for me, I’d be beyond grateful.”

 

“That’s right,” Aria says, bumping her shoulder. Alana’s not comfortable with how easily Aria’s mood changes all the time, “We speak for the dead.”

 

When she thinks of it like that, it makes her feel a little less guilty about it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept accidentally writing "Nathaniel" instead of "Julian" because of how similar they look in my mind.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana makes a very big mistake.

Within no time at all, Alana is being dragged off to the car again, where she grabs a book and starts to read from it.

 

Probably not the wisest of choices, to not only read in a moving vehicle but also while she continues to suffer from the headache that she's positive requires some medical attention.

 

Her head hit the wall pretty violently, if anyone were to ask her. She doesn't know just what force it takes to knock someone out (or rather, she doesn't know what the force it takes  _ feels like _ ) but she's surprised it didn’t end up knocking her unconscious, and thankful for just how lucky she managed to get. She doesn’t like the idea of being unconscious around Alana, especially because of just how much it makes her think of Amelia.

 

She feels guilty to think of how, although she’d really appreciate getting to discover where exactly she ended up, she’s not too confident in her skills of finding out on her own at this rate. She’s got wishes but a genie who seems to be hellbent on finding the stupid little loopholes to make her completely unsatisfied with it.

 

If genies were real and she happened to have one around right now, she’s sure the process would go a little something like,

 

_ “I wish I knew where Amelia was.” _

 

And then the genie would proceed to poof her into the exact area she’s located and then she would also end up trapped. Game over.

 

“Lana dear, we’re meeting back up with Julian  _ and  _ Amelia in a bit, just how exciting is that?”

 

Huh.

 

“I’m thrilled,” she responds, trying to mock Aria’s forced joy because she is just, so tired. She wouldn’t mind a good sixteen hour nap right about now, maybe even longer. She doesn’t think the ache in her head is going to go away in just sixteen hours. Perhaps a day or two instead.

 

Preferably, she doesn’t think she’s above wishing to go to sleep and end up never waking up. She’s not better than that anymore.

 

She’s tired. A tired monster that just killed a man named Stephen and then proceeded to eat out with Aria and her friend.

 

It feels like a party, in a way. A very messed up one, at that.

 

Alana figures she must have dozed off, because the next thing she knows, they’re parked in front of a cabin that is very obviously abandoned. She gets out without having to be told to. The sound of the door shutting only adds onto the headache that only seems to be getting increasingly worse.

 

When she gets home, she’ll absolutely be sure to take some Aleve.

 

Home.

 

She laughs, and then immediately regrets it because of how painful it is, but continues to do it anyways.

 

She’s so far from home. Her grandparents’ house doesn’t feel like home, it’s just a place to sleep. And no matter how much abuse she endures from Aria, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to call this place home-- at least, call it home and not mean it.

 

Before they head inside, Aria makes a point to hold onto her hand, gripping it so tightly that Alana doesn’t want to think about what would happen if she tried pulling away.

 

When they walk in, she immediately sees Amelia, typing away at a desk. It almost looks normal.

 

It does look completely normal, of course, aside from the fact that she’s got a rusted metal collar laying on her shoulders, with bullets loaded all around it, pointing directly at her.

 

She also vaguely notes that the cabin looks a hell of a lot better than it does on the outside, and maybe she’d bother to ask Aria about it if she didn’t feel so terrified.

 

Alana wastes no time in rushing over to Amelia’s side, Aria following close behind because of her refusal to let go of her hand.

 

“Amelia, it’s so good to see you.”

 

Amelia looks up from her screen, and her heart drops. She looks exhausted, she bags under her eyes seeping deep into her skin, dark enough to be mistaken for bruises, eyes bloodshot. She looks considerably more thin than the last time she saw her, and her hair is less of a “fluffy and kind of messy but cute” sort of thing and leans more towards, “weasel dipped into oil.” On top of that, there are definitely bruises.

 

And blood. There’s blood on the floor, staining her clothes, dried up on the chair, on the desk.

 

Amelia takes on look at Alana, and then at hers and Aria’s joined hands, then goes back to staring at the screen.

 

“A replacement already?”

 

“Life’s too short to waste it pouting over a breakup, lovely.”

 

“Rendering me unconscious wasn’t exactly the best breakup technique,” he says, then points at the rusted collar, “And then holding me hostage under the threat of blowing my brains out if I either messed with this too much or got too far away from the cabin? I’m sure you can see that I’m not exactly thrilled about the terms we left off on.”

 

“Come on, you know I'd never hurt you,” Aria sighs, “Not unless I have to,”

 

Amelia snorts, rolling her eyes. “I call bullshit, I’ve got all the physical evidence of just how fake you’re being right here.”   
  
“Amelia..”

 

“Nope,” Amelia holds up a finger, finishes typing, then turns to look at Alana. “You can still get out of this. Run while you can.”

 

“My fingers are just aching to jangle that collar of yours in a way that just might set it off,” Aria tells her.

 

“Literally just do it, dude. No one’s stopping you but yourself and your fear to physically get someone else’s blood on your hands,” she grins, “And that’s why you always make people do the dirty work for you. Alana, she’s using you.”

 

“I’d never hurt someone I love.”

 

“Pretty sure you have no idea what the fuck love even means.”

 

The sound of the slap echoes throughout the small living room, Aria leaving a red handprint on Amelia’s cheek.

 

“I loved you once,” Aria sighs, leaning in closer towards Amelia. She’s yet to let go of Alana’s hand. “I loved you more than anything, and my heart aches thinking back on it all. But would you like to know what changed it all, my dearest?”

 

“Get the fuck out of my face.”   
  


“See? This,” she smacks Aria again, “A little whiny bitch, that’s what you are.”

 

Amelia opens her mouth to say something, but then her computer rings with a notification, and she goes to check it, her face dropping.

 

When she looks over at Alana with that expression, she can feel her own heart drop too.

 

“I’ve got news, would you like to hear the good or the bad part of it first?”

 

“Bad,” she says. Though, she’s sure it doesn’t matter.

 

“Bad news is your dad died,” she tells her, biting her lip. Alana has somehow managed to become even dizzier than she felt earlier.

 

“Good news?” she asks desperately.

 

“It was peaceful, Painless.”

 

“That’s..” she can feel the hope being ripped from her as the moments pass. She’s feeling more and more lost. “None of that is good news.”

 

“I’d take what I can get,” Amelia says, she reaches out to put a hand on Alana’s shoulder, but Aria smacks it away.

 

“I think I can handle comforting her, thanks.”

 

And then she’s being dragged into a separate room. She sits down on the bed, next to Aria, who’s rubbing her back.

 

She has no idea what she did to deserve any of this. Was it the group project in sixth grade that the procrastinated on?

 

Her world is falling apart around her and Aria seems to be trying to put it all back together with a dried out Elmer's glue stick.

 

“It’s okay to cry, you know?” Aria tells her, “You’re allowed to be upset.”

 

Alana would prefer anything that doesn’t include having to break down in front of Aria, but right now she sounds so open, so understanding.

 

She’s losing everything and the only person she’s going to have is Aria.

 

She lets herself break down into tears, and Aria pulls her into a hug.

 

It’s nice. Not as nice as the hugs she used to get from family members, but she’ll take what she can get. She’ll allow herself to relax, let Aria fool her into this false sense of security, because she doesn’t know what else she’s supposed to do.

 

She just needs a shoulder to lean on, this isn’t long term. She still has time to run, Amelia said so herself, and Alana trusts her on that.

 

This isn’t permanent, she just needs a little more time. This is the first time in a long time that someone has stayed with her, willingly, and let her cry, let her be the person that she is. She might be Alana Beck, but she’s no robot, she’s got emotions too. She just.. Needs to take advantage of this opportunity. It won’t be like this much longer.

 

“Lana?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I know this is a bad time but..” she starts, taking a deep breath. She puts a hand under Alana’s chin to make her look up at her, “I have something I need to tell you.”   
  


“Okay.”

 

“I think i’m in love with you.”

 

Alana doesn’t love her back, she’s too emotionally draining and she’s caused her along with many others so much physical and emotional pain. She doesn’t want to deal with that any longer.

 

“I love you so much it hurts,” and then Aria’s crying too, “And I know I'm not the best sometimes, but I promise that everything I do is out of love. It’s always for you.”

 

She can hear Amelia’s voice in her head, yelling that she calls bullshit, calling Aria an abusive sick fuck.

 

But Amelia isn’t here. Amelia isn’t the one taking the time out of her day to comfort her.

 

“Alana, I don’t deserve you. I know that. I’m this worthless piece of shit that doesn’t deserve anything, really, and maybe I should just.. End it all, because I am just so undeserving of having you in my life. I’m so lucky and thankful to know that you’ve stayed with me this long.”

 

There are alarm bells in her head, but they’re being smothered by the growing concern she has for Aria.

 

She doesn’t like it when people say such terrible things about themselves. She’s a fir, believer that no one deserves to hate themselves, and should never feel like there’s no one else to turn to, to have no other options.

 

Alana would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to Aria because she couldn’t bring herself to do this one little thing for her.

 

She can do this one little thing for Aria, just for a little bit, just until she starts feeling better. Then she’ll leave. She’s got time.

 

So she swallows and says, “I think I’m in love with you too.”

 

And then there are lips on hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I write this, the more I realize that I really am in this for the long haul.
> 
> Also, I had a chapter for Percy and Clarice in the works and accidentally deleted the entire thing so, there's that. :,))


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan gets an invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated, stay safe!

Today, Connor’s got a paper plate in his hands with peanut butter cookies piled on top of it, the only thing keeping them from falling onto the floor (where they belong) being a piece of plastic wrap that he thinks is a little small, if the fact that when Cynthia handed it over to him, a shit ton of crumbs ended up falling into his lap.

 

He doesn’t even like peanut butter cookies.

 

But he’s steadily growing more and more tired of hospital food and if he doesn’t start getting more variety in his diet, he just might fucking lose it.

 

So yes, if that means turning towards Cynthia’s shitty cookies for emotional support, then so be it.

 

Cookies actually sound kind of good, and maybe he’d be looking forward to them at least a little, but he really fucking hates peanut butter.

 

But not only is he tired of hospital food, he’s also on the verge of dying from boredom, and when he gets bored, he tends to snack on a bunch of unhealthy shit, just to give himself something to do. (A habit that happened more frequently before Jigsaw, but he had still managed to sneak some shit into there too, but his binge eating sessions just happened way less)

 

The whole downfall to it all is that he usually ends up getting so fucking bored that he eats too much and can’t fucking handle it, so it all comes back out. It happened way less at home, but became more common during his time with Jigsaw because, when Aria noticed that he looked suspiciously healthier than he should, the consequences were  _ not  _ fun.

 

He may have just fucking been rescued from some game and is fairly certain he’s nearing another one, but he still fucking hates himself and is going to eat these cookies with Evan and get himself sick because it’s just one of those days where all he can think about is how miserable he is.

 

He swears that the walk to Evan’s room grows a little shorter each time, he doesn’t even remember hopping into the elevator. Huh.

 

Just one of those days.

 

He knocks on the door, and waits a moment for Evan to respond. He frowns when it doesn’t come, and then proceeds to knock again.

 

Fuck, not yet, not ever. If he doesn’t get an answer and walks inside to discover that Jigsaw’s taken hold of him again, he’s going to burn the entire fucking world down.

 

Evan hasn’t even managed to recover from the first game.

 

Connor doesn’t know what Jigsaw’s playing at, but this is bullshit. Aria can ramble on and on about “playing fair” all she wants, but thinking about it makes him want to laugh in her face. There’s nothing fair about what they’ve done to Evan, or to the countless other people.

 

He’s (thankfully) ripped away from fantasizing about how he’s going to tear Aria apart with his own two hands when he hears a sniffle from inside.

 

Oh. Okay.

 

It’s one of those days for the both of them.

 

“Evan? It’s me,” he says, in the most gentle tone he can manage while still being loud enough for Evan to hear him through the door.

 

There’s another sniffle, and then silence. Connor closes his eyes and tries to remind himself that he needs to work on being more patient with people. Just because he can manage to cope with things the way he does doesn’t mean that literally everyone else around him can simultaneously learn to process things the exact same way he does. He really, really needs to work on how selfish he can be, and he is. He is working on it, it’s just. Frustrating. And tiring.  Who would have thought that giving yourself mental lectures could be so headache inducing?

 

“Come in,” he hears Evan call out, and it makes Connors heartbreak to hear how his voice cracks.

 

When Connor opens the door, he’s greeted by the sight of a very pale and shaking Evan, who is gripping a now wrinkled paper into his hands.

 

He sets the cookies down before he sits down on the bed, staring at Evan for a second to come up with a sort of game plan. He finally decides that, instead of trying (and failing) to do something new in hopes that it just, stops whatever’s going on with Evan right now.

 

“Feel like talking about it?”

 

Evan shakes his head, and instead of speaking, hands over the paper in his hands.

 

It’s a pamphlet, he realizes.

 

A pamphlet with Mia’s face on it.

 

“Shit,” is all he can say when he’s hit with the realization of what it is.

 

“I.. my mom walked in here and she, she gave it to me,” Evan gasps, and Connor doesn’t think he’s incorrect about how Evan’s shaking seems to  _ worsen.  _ “I can’t. I can’t go. Not when I’m the reason she’s.. I-I-” he cuts himself off with a sob. It’s only when he notices the way that Evan’s leaning towards him that he finally decides it’s okay to wrap an arm around him.

 

“No. Don’t start with that,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

 

“Nonono, you don’t understand, I-”

 

“I think I understand a little too fucking well, Evan,” he interrupts, this time a little too harshly.

 

“I killed my little sister,” Evan says, his voice just barely above a whisper. "I killed my sister, Connor. It's.. it's different."

 

Connor pauses then, letting that sink in. He closes his eyes, and just tries to  _ think  _ about how he'd feel if he ended up having to hurt Zoe. He'd never,  _ never  _ manage to forgive himself for something like that. Sure, he knows the people he's harmed had families of their own, that they all had at least one person who would notice if they disappeared, who would be completely and utterly heartbroken.

 

But if he had to hurt Zoe? That would have been so, so much worse. He's hurt her enough.

 

What he doesn't understand, however, is that he doesn't think Evan's ever gotten a chance to really interact with Mia before all of this happens.

 

He mentally slaps himself for that thought. Fuck.

 

Even so, he'd still beat himself up if he had been the one to do that to Mia, if a child's blood was on his hands.

 

"What about Rosé?" He asks, deciding that maybe it'd be better to try and slowly lead Evan away from the topic of Mia. "Do you know if she's getting a funeral? Or some service?"

 

Evan shakes his head, and rubs at his eyes a little too violently. Connor finally decides to pull his hand away from him when he sees Evan tugging at his own hair.

 

"Hey, come on."

 

"Sorry," is Evan's response. It's a little too fast and a lotta bit too loud. "Sorry, I, no. Rosé isn't.. I heard they still haven't managed to identify the body?"

 

Connor nods, "They're saying she ended up in some acid shower?"

 

Evan nods, "I didn't know her, but that, that had to be so terrible. I don't even know what she did! But.. but she didn't, no one deserves that." And Connor desperately wants to convince himself that he imagines the muttered 'except me.' but he's not sure he can let that slide.

 

"Evan."

 

"What?" Evan asks, and his voice is a little louder that Connor would have expected from him. Evan stands from the bed, and he starts pacing around the small room, walking around in tight circles. "Are you going to sit there and tell me I'm wrong? I'm a murderer, Connor. No matter how you try and word it, I'm the one… I did it. I killed her. I killed Mia. I don't.. I can't be forgiven for that."

 

"You didn't know," Connor protests, "That was the entire point of the game. You didn't know which was which."

 

"I shouldn't have used them! We were all rescued anyway!" Evan shakes his head, and he's tugging at his hair again. "If anything, I should've used all three on myself! Problem solved."

 

"Don't say that-"

 

"No one would've cared if I did it! I know a funeral is cheaper than the hospital bills that I keep giving my mom because Jigsaw won't leave me alone. They.." Evan's voice grows quieter, and he slides down against the wall towards the floor, bringing his knees close. "They aren't going to leave me alone."

 

Connor fucking wishes he wasn't absolute shit at communicating with other people and actually dealing with emotions. He's not sure how he's supposed to handle this and he's got very little clue as to where he should even start.

 

How is he supposed to deal with this when he can't even deal with his own emotions properly? He's got those fuckers buried so deep inside of him that he's surprised he's managed to achieve feeling anything but numb since they were rescued from the game.

 

"Amelia's got a plan, remember?" He tells him, getting up from his spot on the bed to sit on the floor in front of Evan. He tries to ignore just how cold and uncomfortable it is. "We'll get to them first."

 

"We don't know if we can trust her."

 

Connor shakes his head, "I think we can."

 

Evan goes silent. He has yet to even look up at Connor. He's sure that if he doesn't get Evan to calm down soon, he's going to pass out because that breathing pattern of his is, first of all, non-existent and, second of all, very loud and uneven and fast.

 

"Hey, Evan? Can you try and breathe with me?"

 

"No, no I- I don't want to," Evan tells him, shaking his head violently. "I can't do this. I don't want to do this. I can't I can't I can't."

 

Connor tries to remind himself that, while he is not usually a patient person, he should really try  _ not  _ to snap at Evan because this is a completely reasonable reaction he's having but, wow. This is. Frustrating.

 

Though, he's not sure it's Evan that he's frustrated at. The anger's more towards himself because is, such a useless person. What kind of friend is he if he can't even figure out what to do to help Evan out? Even just to calm him down a little?

 

He is an absolute waste of a person.

 

But now is not the time for self-hatred because Evan's clearly dealing with bigger and more important things-- he's trying to cope with the death of his sister.

 

"You know I've killed people too, right?" Connor says suddenly, reminds him. Because Evan isn't the only person who's got innocent people's blood on his hands and he needs to know that.

 

Instead of Evan coming to the understanding Connor was going for, he just laughs and shakes his head.

 

"No, no no no. You know that everyone talks about the loophole in that. You aren’t.. Jigsaw isn’t killing anyone, the people do that to themselves because it’s.. All up to them.”

 

“Sounds like I’m talking to a Jigsaw enthusiast,” Connor jokes, but he realizes the moment it leaves his mouth that that one had very poor timing. “Shit, that wasn’t okay-”

 

“No, you’re right,” Evan interrupts. Connor kind of freezes, and the only assumption he can make to explain what he had just heard is that both his brain is failing to work with him and his ears aren’t doing their job either.

 

When he opens his mouth to speak, he finds that he has nothing to say, and he’s kind of thankful that Evan takes it upon himself to speak before Connor can stammer out some complete nonsense, because with his luck? It’d be another shitty joke, and he’s sure Evan’s dealt with enough of those in his life.

 

He may not know much about Evan, but he’s heard enough complaints and has enough memories of his own to know that making Evan feel like shit is none other than Jared Kleinman’s job.

 

“After the..” Evan starts, vaguely gesturing to his lack of two full arms, Connor nods for him to continue. “I started doing research? It was, it still is a really bad obsession of mine, but I-i wanted to learn how to, to uh, to avoid it.” He snorts, wipes at his eyes, and then proceeds to go into a full laugh-cry fit.

 

Connor is truly the last person anyone would want to try and deal with this, but fuck. He’d be a monster to leave Evan to have this.. Breakdown here in front of him and literally doing nothing about it.

 

He’s done with being a monster. And if that means having to step out of his comfort zone? He’s going to fucking do it and learn how to stop complaining about it every goddamn second.

 

Experimentally, he puts a hand on Evan’s shoulder, and when he doesn’t react negatively, he mutters a (hopefully unnoticeable) “fuck it” and decides to just pull Evan into his arms.

 

“I’m so useless, I worked and worked and studied and tried to become a better person. But I’m such a mess, a huge, unfixable mess that doesn’t deserve life and the entire world probably knows that by now. Jigsaw does.”

 

“Fuck, come on, that’s not true Evan-”

 

“It is,” Evan interrupts, and Connor has to remind himself to not express his frustrations over being interrupted by Evan, because he doesn’t need to be contributing to the seemingly never-ending list of reasons that Evan has about why he isn’t a good person. “Jigsaw, they started out with choosing some really bad people. They picked me twice because all I do is ruin others peoples days or lives and I just use and use and use other people. I don’t, I really don’t think I can do this. The people behind Jigsaw are so much smarter than us.”

 

Connor snorts, “I can promise you that I am, in no way whatsoever, I genius.”

 

Evan shakes his head at that, “You’re lying. Your mom used to tell me all the time about how smart you were. I saw report cards.”

 

“Those don’t mean anything,” Connor tries, because he’s never really seen any value in them, how could he when, no matter the grades he ended up getting, it wasn’t enough to prove to his parents that he wasn’t some useless lazy fuck? How could he believe letters printed onto a paper were worth anything when it wasn’t enough to keep Larry from yelling at him nearly every night during dinner?

 

“I would’ve  _ killed  _ for grades like those, Connor.”

 

Connor opts not to say anything as he watches the realization dawn on Evan’s face, and he tries not to roll his eyes or outwardly groan because he was supposed to be trying to lead him away from the whole Mia situation.

 

“I’m a murderer.”

 

“You’re not.”

 

“I killed her. I killed her and it’s only a matter of time until Mark does something about it. He probably wants me to come to the funeral in the first place so he can stab me.”

 

“You don’t have to go.”

 

“I feel like I should. I.. I still need to apologize to her. It’s the least I can do.”

 

“Is your mom going with you?” Connor asks, and Evan shakes his head.

 

“Work,” he responds simply.

 

“How about I go with you?”

 

Evan looks up at him, opens his mouth, shuts it, then sighs.

 

“I don’t think I can go. I want to, and I feel like I need to, but I..”

 

Connor can’t keep himself from sighing this time around. He knows he can’t complain because this is a ridiculous situation that neither of them should have found themselves in in the first place, and he knows he’s still one of the most difficult and confusing people in the world, but he’s going to keep telling himself that he at least has the right to be frustrated as long as he doesn’t end up being an asshole about it.

 

“Okay, okay,” he nods, “How about you visit her grave? No funeral, no Mark, can’t promise the no death, but.”

 

He feels more than a little proud with himself at the laugh that earns from Evan.

 

“Is that offer still up?” Evan asks, “Can you, d-do you feel okay with going with me? I mean it’s totally fine if you have something better to do, but.”

 

“I’ll go,” he interrupts. “Probably better that you do that anyway, huh? That way we can wait until the hospital decides we aren’t going to die.”

 

Evan nods, “So you’ll go with me?”

 

“Hell yeah I will.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Literally no need to thank me.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“You know what? I think I prefer the thank you over the sorry,” Connor tells him.

 

Evan grins. “Sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to go see me whine about literally everything on Tumblr skshsksh  
> con-fuckingfused-nor


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home.

Free at last.

 

Or, at least, that’s what it should feel like, but as they pull up to the house that he’s half convinced is fake because of how long it’s only been a part of memories that seemed to be getting duller and duller by the day, he realizes that this place doesn’t feel like home.

 

Connor has imagined, time and time again, that this moment would feel more freeing. He may have deflected a lot of Aria’s bullshit, but one of the (admittedly many) things she managed to get into his head was how wonderful it would be to be back, how he could finally return to a somewhat normal life, how his family just might start giving a fuck about just how terrible his mental health is.

 

But it doesn’t seem like Larry’s changed all that much, he’s still as ignorant as ever. Cynthia still _tries_ to be a mom and he’s at least thankful for that much, but she still tries to smother him with affection in a way that is so suffocating that it does nothing to help him. In fact, he’s pretty sure that it’s _worsened_ since he left.

 

He thinks Zoe’s the one that’s changed the most. She’s gone from completely ignoring him (with a few exceptions that were saved for screaming fights) to sitting in his hospital room and just, talking to him because he happened to complain about how bored he was.

 

But he shouldn’t put them all down, despite them all not having made huge improvements, they’ve changed.

 

The ride back home wasn’t all that suffocating, but it sure as hell was awkward.

 

At the very, very least, he should be thankful that Larry hasn’t tried to put the blame on Connor for all of this. He’s put up with a lot of bullshit over the past year, but even thinking about Larry telling him that he should have been watching over himself, should have been more aware of his surroundings, makes his blood _boil._

 

“We’re here!” Cynthia exclaims in that overly cheery tone of hers when they arrive, and Connor never intends on admitting out loud to anyone that he’s actually missed it. “Zoe, can you help Connor up to his room? We’re going to get him a phone.”

 

“I can find my room on my own,” he interrupts, then immediately tries to backtrack because fuck, how strong he’s been trying to act, there’s no denying that even the idea of finding himself in another game like Evan has makes him feel sick, and because of that he’s trying to be a better person, he has to be. He doesn’t think he can admit this out loud either, but he can relate with Evan when he expresses that he doesn’t believe he’s strong enough to keep fighting even when faced with another game. It’s an honest to god miracle that he even got out of the second one.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, then steps out of the car. He follows Zoe into the house, seeing as he doesn’t have a phone on him and therefore can’t get in with their fancy app that controls the lock for them because that’s just something that rich people seem to have.

 

He’s honestly content to just walk inside and go mope in his room, try to get used to an environment that’s supposed to feel safe. He’s still having troubles sleeping at night and he hates it, but he hates himself even more because his stupid useless brain can’t seem to wrap itself around the idea that sleeping isn’t going to get himself fucking killed, that taking care of himself isn’t something that he has to work towards, has to earn.

 

But Zoe, on the other hand, seems to have different plans. Once he’s shut the door, she turns around to face him, effectively blocking him from running into his room and hiding because that’s probably something he needs to do right now-- actually, reading a book sounds nice right about now.

 

“I’m warning you right now that they turned your room into some sort of memorial since you disappeared, and they haven’t gotten around to changing it.”

 

“A memorial?” He repeats, shaking his head, because even that sounded like a bit too much for his parents.

 

Zoe throws her hands up, “Hey, if you don’t believe me you can see for yourself. And when you do realize that I’m right, you can hang out in my room if you want to avoid having to see your face literally everywhere because I’m going out.”

 

Zoe finally steps out of the way, and Connor takes that opportunity to walk towards the stairs (honestly? No point in running, he’s still got long legs that could probably carry him all the way to Australia in under twenty steps).

 

It’s when he hears the door open that he finally feels compelled to ask, “Who are you going out with?” Because he’s still trying to get his life together to get Jigsaw off his ass

 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t respond with a smart ass comment or do anything to try and piss him off.

 

“Alana,” she answers, and he nods. That makes sense.

 

“Have fun.”

 

He hears the door shut and starts making his way up the stairs.

 

“Oh, fuck this,” he groans, when he finally steps foot in his room, rubbing at his eyes in disbelief.

 

Memorial was honestly an understatement, it looks more like a shrine that one of those creepy stalker high school girls that people have a fetish for would have in her room.

 

Disclaimer, this is not something Connor enjoys seeing, it’s creepy and he looks at it for no longer than seven seconds before he’s slamming the door shut.

 

He doesn’t take Zoe up on her offer to hide out in her room, because that’s weird and he doesn’t need anything to contribute to how uncomfortable he’s constantly feeling right now, thanks. Also, he’s positive that it’d be creepy because it just, is. He doesn’t need her worrying about him invading her personal space.

 

He lounges on the couch and waits for his parents to get back so he can urge them into fixing up his room, because he doesn’t think he can stomach having to look at it any longer, even if it is for the purpose of getting rid of it.

 

This isn’t him being lazy, and if he has to hear anyone even imply it, he has no problem in drop kicking them into another solar system.

 

* * *

 

 

Jared has to take Evan home from the hospital because, surprise surprise, his mom needs to work.

 

He doesn’t even want to think about the huge hospital bill he ended up giving her, and all because he couldn’t keep himself together, couldn’t even fool anyone into thinking he wasn’t falling apart at the seams.

 

He should have died, he still stands by what he said to Connor; the cost of a funeral is cheaper than a hospital bill.

 

But now he can’t die because if he does his mom will have to deal with both and he can’t put that on her.

 

Jared makes a whistling noise once he’s finally sat down in the car, and Evan wishes he could have walked home instead, or at least would have been given more time to mentally prepare himself for this.

 

Now that he thinks about it, Jared’s last words to him could have been a bunch of teases. The one person that’s supposed to be his friend. Would Jared have felt guilty for that? No, Evan doubts he’d even show up to the funeral-- no, no he’d show up to do some fortnite dance on his casket and everyone would laugh because it would turn out to be symbolic of how his life was just all one big joke.

 

“Evan Hansen himself, here to crash the party.”

 

“Haha,” Evan replies dryly as he buckles up. He’s too tired to put up with this, but it doesn’t look like he has a say. Then again, when has he ever?  
  
“You ruined my plans dude, here I was, helping the school out with the huge party we were going to throw on your grave.”

 

“Very funny.”

 

Jared grins, “You should tell your boyfriend he ruined it too. They were going to leave a space right next to you because everyone knows that you two are so gay for each other. How’s that going, by the way? How are you two handling the reunion?”

 

With how much he’s talking, Evan’s pretty sure that it’s inevitable to _not_ compare Jared to Alana Beck right now because _he’s not letting him get a single word in._

 

“Actually, we-” he starts, and honestly doesn’t know why he bothered when he is, unsurprisingly, cut off.

 

“Or did you know he was alive the entire time? Come on dude, I’ve been meaning to jump on into this drama. The whole school’s been talking about it but the tea’s getting cold.”

 

“Jared, can you-”

 

“Also, have you heard news of Zoe? Looks like she’s getting in the way of your plans to have a threesome with the two of them because her and Alana are so fucking gay it’s-”

 

“Jared-”

 

“--actually kind of gross. But you should check their Instagram accounts because the shit they post? It’s hot-”

 

“Jared, can you please just shut up?” He interrupts, his voice _way_ louder than he ever could have imagined it could get. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

 

Jared only looks stunned for maybe, a good two and a half seconds before whatever emotion that doesn’t radiate an ‘I always joke in terrible situations and can literally never tell when to stop even if someone branded it on to my skin’ type of energy.

 

“Looks like I’m going to have to talk to Murphy about this,” he shakes his head in what’s probably supposed to be a solemn manner. “Can’t have him going around and polluting your mind like that.”

 

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Evan sighs, rubbing at his head. He could really go for a twenty-three-hour nap right about now.

 

“Ooh, finally admitting that you two fucked like, twelve times in your hospital beds?” Jared laughs, elbowing him.

 

Jared truly is a professional at worsening people’s moods.

 

Evan is just so frustrated and tired but he doesn’t do anything about it, he just remains silent and allows the world to dull around him. He gives short and simple answers when he can to whatever Jared asks him all the way back, but mostly, he just shrugs or nods along.

 

He’s thankful that he’s got Connor in his life now, because at least now he knows for certain that not every person treats their friends the way Jared treats Evan.

 

He doesn’t know how Jared managed to make a fifteen minute drive into a forty minute drive, he thinks to himself as he finally looks at the time when he walks inside, and he’d probably be fuming right now if the fact that he is so exhausted wasn’t standing in the way of that right now.

 

It’s nice, actually, to feel so tired and overwhelmed that he can’t even spare the energy to feel anything anymore.

 

Evan reminds himself that he shouldn’t do anything stupid because, with his luck, he’d fail miserably and then the hospital bills would pile up more and his mom wouldn’t be able to afford it and then they’d be living on the street and he’d have to drop out of school and everyone would remember him as that kid that died in a dumpster.

 

How pathetic would that be? He survives two Jigsaw games and then ends up dying because he ended up being unlucky enough to catch the flu and die because they couldn’t afford treatment for it and all because of him too?

 

Evan might want to die, but not in that way, thank you very much.

 

He may have gotten a lot of rest at the hospital, but it clearly wasn't valid rest in the eyes of his everything because he feels like he hasn't slept in years.

 

He doesn't even bother trying to make it to his room, he lies down on the couch and, for the first time ever, is blessed with the ability to fall asleep almost instantly.

 

* * *

 

 

Connor wakes up to his parents talking in the kitchen.

 

They aren’t arguing yet, so he decides it’s safe enough to get something to eat. He still feels tired, but in an ‘I overslept’ kind of way. He wants some actual food, not whatever the hospital’s been giving him and not the sweets his mom’s been showering him in either. He just needs to hope that whatever weird phase Cynthia’s going through right now isn’t too limiting. If he has to face another gluten-free lasagna, he might just lose it.

 

When he gets up, he kind of wishes he would have just laid down and waited for them to get out, and he makes a note of that because it’s not going to happen again if he has any say in it. Being around just one of them at a time was miserable enough, but being in a room with both at once? Fuck this.

 

“Oh, Larry, he’s awake!” Cynthia exclaims, setting the glass in her hands on the counter and wrapping her arms around Connor. “Did you sleep well?”

 

He still feels a little too out of it to respond, so he just gives a very tired nod that barely qualifies as one.

 

“Oh, your phone!” She looks back at Larry, who’s reaching into his pocket and, sure enough, holding a phone out to him. He takes it hesitantly, expecting Larry to list some bullshit terms and conditions that’ll end in some screaming match between the two of them with Cynthia trying (and failing) to stop the two of them.

 

It doesn’t come, the two of them just exchange eye contact that Cynthia thankfully interrupts when she seems to realize that neither one of them have any plans to actually speak to the other.

 

“Zoe’s been texting me all day about cleaning up your room. I’m sorry, I just haven’t had the time and,” she pauses, and Connor knows he’s going to be in here longer than he wanted when he notices the tears welling up in her eyes. “I missed you so much.”

 

“I missed you too,” he tells her, and he doesn’t want to admit that he’s tearing up now, too, but he doesn’t think anyone would believe it for even a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this alone is kind of unsatisfying so uh, I'm hoping the double update makes up for it!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Readjusting.

Evan tries to give people the benefit of the doubt, he really does. He tries to be understanding, tries to imagine things from their perspective because he doesn’t need to be mad at people who are trying their best and people do that with him all the time because of his crippling anxiety. It’s a nice thing to do, and he’s always hoped that, if he does it, someone who understands would come along and help him out a little, help him to stop feeling like he’s separated from the rest of the world in some glass box that he’s created for himself.

 

He tries to understand. He does. But even he knows that having to be home alone after a very traumatic experience is just _cruel._

 

It’s like nothing’s changed, like him going away and nearly dying hadn’t made a difference.

 

He sits up in his bed, leaning his back against the headboard as he keeps his gaze fixated beneath him while he runs a hand through his hair. Slowly at first, gentle. Then, he tugs at it, waving his hand wildly to get rid of the strands he had pulled out. His head hurts, and in more ways than one.

 

That doesn’t stop him from doing it again, however.

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

And againagainagain. Over and over. It hurts, but obviously not enough to stop him from continuing.

 

What’s his own hair to him, anyway? Jigsaw is still out for him, right?

 

He once read an article about a woman who was strapped to a chair, her hair tangled inside of it, inside of gears that just kept pulling and pulling and pulling, ripping it from her scalp.

 

Jigsaw doesn’t reuse traps, he doesn’t have to worry about it, but that doesn’t rule out the possibility of a game inspired by it being ruled out. His hair isn’t even long, but it’s better to be safe rather than sorry. It’s better to prepare for the inevitable rather than delay it.

 

Evan Hansen is not going to die by his own hand, he’s not sure he could if he wanted. He won’t be able to forgive himself for it, but maybe his mom can find it in herself to forgive him for all the bills he keeps giving her.

 

Evan Hansen will not kill himself, Jigsaw will do that for him.

 

Is it considered suicide if he doesn’t do anything to try and prevent it?

 

It’s not something he should spend too much time pondering over, he’s running on a clock that could be counting down to its final hours right now.

 

Is it considered suicide if he leaves a note?

 

Doesn’t matter, he won’t be alive to hear that debate, won’t be there to hear the speculation.

 

It feels like the world is closing in on him as he makes his way over to his backpack, struggling to pull out both a lined paper and a pen.

 

If he wasn’t so broken, he wouldn’t be struggling in the first place with it, because he would have both arms. He doesn’t even have a prosthetic arm. He wonders if it would even help. He’d like to think that it’d help him pretend that he’s a whole person. It makes him uncomfortable to think that just how unfixable he is is displayed to everyone around him.

 

No point in thinking about it, or even trying to ask about one. There’s no way they’d ever be able to afford it.

 

It’s funny, the price they put on something so useless, but whatever.

 

He’s staring blankly at the paper sitting in front of him, trying to figure out how the hell he’s going to fit all of his thoughts onto a single page. Moments ago, he could have sworn he had the perfect note pictured inside of his mind. But now that he has to write it down? His mind has blanked out.

 

Maybe if he had more time, he could step back and try to recollect his thoughts. But time is a privilege he doesn’t seem to have anymore.

 

It may not be the best, but he’ll make sure to leave a note for his mom. It won’t make up for all the unnecessary distress he has and will continue to cause her, but it’s all he can do.

 

Just as he brings the pencil to the paper, his phone vibrates, and if anyone were there to watch it, they just might have been able to confirm that he jumps higher than should probably be possible, honestly.

 

Evan rubs at his eyes, and then his nose when he realizes that there’s snot dripping onto his lips, he tries not to think about how gross it is that he can _taste_ it as he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He grabs his phone, preparing for a message from his mom telling him that she won’t be home tonight because she picked up another shift and he’ll have to either find something that isn’t expired or at least somewhat edible inside of the fridge because he is _not_ going to put himself through the stress of ordering something.

 

But when he looks at the screen, the contact it’s from isn’t his mom. He groans as he unlocks the phone. If it’s not her, then it’s probably Jared at his _real_ friend’s house and they’re probably snickering right now, making fun of Evan because he’s the loser who’s one step away from ending up homeless because of how much of a fuck up he is.

 

That may not be the case, he thinks as he finally reads through the message.

 

 **Unknown Number:** okay so zoe gave me this number so if you aren’t evan this was not my fault

 

Evan stares at his screen until it dims, and then until it turns off, his own reflection staring back at him. He sets it face down because he’s not going to think about how much of a mess he looks like right now. If he tries tackling every single thing wrong with his life right now, Jigsaw just might turn up at his door sooner than even he would have expected.

 

His phone buzzes again, and he doesn’t think he jumps too high this time, but he can definitely feel his heart speed up uncomfortably because now that he’s got Jigsaw on his mind he’s now thinking of the possibility that they got a hold of his phone number and oh no he hasn’t even finished his not-suicide-note for his mom yet.

 

 **Unknown Number:** wjen did you want to visit mia?

 **Unknown Number:** wasn’t the funeral last weekend?

 

Oh. It’s Connor. That took way longer than he’s comfortable with admitting to figure out. Useless brain.

 

He checks the date, and then just.. Stares at it because he doesn’t know how this much time managed to pass without him even being aware of it. He could have sworn it was just Monday, since when was Thursday a thing?

 

>Tomorrow?

>I want to get it done and over with.

 

It’s something he dreads doing, but he also knows himself well enough to know that, the longer he puts it off, the more guilty and anxious he’s going to grow and honestly? He’s not too sure if he can handle any more of that.

 

Not to mention, Jigsaw’s still after him and goddammit he might just have to fight for his life a third time if he doesn’t get the chance to try and explain himself to the little girl now buried six feet under.

 

There’s not much he can do to change what happened, but that doesn’t make him feel any less miserable.

 

 **Unknown Number:** time?

 **Unknown Number** : I don’t usually wake up until one

 **Unknown Number:** my sleep schedule is so fucked

 

>Can you pick me up around 3?

 

 **Unknown Number:** send mw an addres s nad ill be there

 **Unknown Number:** fuck I’m tired

 

>Get some sleep!!

>Goodnight!!!

 

He adds Connor’s number into his contacts, and mainly because he’s getting tired of the little warning his phone keeps giving him at the top of the screen, along with the option to block the number and report it as spam. The last thing he wants is to drop his phone and accidentally block Connor’s number while trying to catch it.

 

 **Connor:** Night

 

Evan sets his phone down again and decides that, instead of writing a not-suicide-letter or worrying about having to eat, he should just get some sleep now. He knows he’s going to need the rest for tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

When Connor wakes up again, it’s to Zoe shaking his shoulder. Unfortunately enough for her, he’s got it drilled into his mind that being touched at all in his sleep means danger and danger means Aria and he’s never passed up an opportunity to have an excuse to harm Aria.

 

Faster than even he expects, he’s up and has a death grip on her wrist, twisting it as he brings it over her shoulder and behind her back. It’s when he hears the yelp that he realizes that he’s fucked up, and let's go instantly.

 

“Fuck,” he says, his eyes wide, because he was doing so good. They weren’t being hostile towards each other and it was amazing because he could finally stop feeling like he had to constantly be at war with his family. But now it’s going to come crumbling down because, no matter how many times he has to tell himself, he can’t seem to fully believe that he’s safe here. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

 

Sorry isn’t enough to express just how guilty he feels, but it’s what he can do right now.

 

Zoe looks down at her arm, shakes it a little and sighs. The anger that was there just moments ago gone.

 

He’s not going to thank Jigsaw for making his life a living hell, but he would have to be an idiot to not notice how his relationship with Zoe has gotten better since him disappearing. But he also knows that maybe nothing would have changed if it weren’t for Evan getting involved with his family.

 

One day, he hopes he can sit down with Evan and talk about it, because while he’s not angry about it anymore, he’s certainly curious.

 

“Mom put leftovers in the fridge for you, but it looks gross so I went to Arby’s. If you want it we have to go outside because the last time I snuck food in here, the smell got me into trouble.”

 

Connor kind of laughs at that and he nods, standing up from the couch faster than he should and then immediately sitting back down when his vision goes black because of it. He waits a little impatiently for it to come back and when it does, Zoe’s looking at him funny. He decides to just shrug, and she accepts it, gesturing for him to follow her outside.

 

It isn’t until he’s eating a mozzarella stick that he finally decides to ask, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

 

Zoe shrugs, her gaze falling to the concrete. “We didn’t know you were part of some Jigsaw trap, but I’ve read about it. I don’t know what happened while you were away, but I think some part of me hopes that, if it had been me, maybe you would’ve been nicer to me too.”

 

“That doesn’t make up for-” he starts, but Zoe seems to be having none of it.

 

“It doesn’t, but I’m tired of being angry with you. I don’t think you’re the same person you were a year ago, and I know it’s wrong to say that I’m thankful for it, but..”

 

“I get it,” Connor nods, because he does. He’s been having a nonstop mental debate with himself, trying to figure out whether or not it’s wrong to admit that his time with Jigsaw has helped him see his flaws and improve himself. He’s a better person because of Aria, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever going to forgive her for what he’s made him do, ‘nor does he believe it justifies what they’re doing but..

 

Fuck. It’s all complicating and he’s got about one brain cell that’s about to drop dead at any moment now.

 

There isn’t much to be said after that, and that’s okay. Talking still takes a lot out of him, even with Evan because, well, let’s be honest-- he’s a wreck.

 

They still have yet to even bother logging into Connor’s laptop, and maybe that’s for the best. Amelia is still a stranger and, with all he knows, it’s still a very real possibility that she’s lying to them, that she’s part of Jigsaw and trying to lure them into a trap.

 

Even if she isn’t, he doesn’t think either him or Evan can handle having to deal with anything Jigsaw related ever again. It’s selfish, but if he has to take credit for another game, even if it is for the greater good or forever. He doesn’t want to be a hero, he just wants to forget about it all and try to live a somewhat normal life.

 

Zoe stands, and he blinks, bringing himself back to reality instead of buried deep inside of his own thoughts. The bag is being tossed at him, and he opens his mouth to question why the fuck she’s throwing trash at him when Zoe speaks.

 

“I got the food, you figure out what you’re going to do with the trash,” she explains with a laugh, then walks back inside.

 

That’s fair enough.

 

But unluckily enough for Zoe, he is still very used to getting yelled at, so instead of even throwing it away, he leaves it on the counter for Cynthia and Larry to discover in the morning.

 

He’s not too worried about getting yelled at. He’s sure he can get away with a lot more for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there's still more Alana background™️ on its way, I haven't forgotten about her!  
> Also I am so sorry if Zoe and Connor are.. off? It's difficult for me to write them because I just can't wrap my head around the concept of siblings that like, actually talk. All my sister does is punch and insult me sjkhjahak


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anything to make Aria smile.

“Lana!” Aria calls out, and before Alana has the chance to respond to her, Aria’s laying her head in her lap, a folder filled with papers in her hands. She holds it up in a way that causes the papers to fall out and onto Aria’s face. Trying not to laugh would be a near impossible task, and would also be very cruel.

 

Thankfully, the laughter doesn’t annoy Aria. In fact, after she’s sitting upright and has got the papers stuffed back inside of the folder, she starts laughing too.

 

Aria can be terrible at times, Alana can’t deny that much. But the more time she spends with her, the more she starts to see the good parts of her. Deep down, Aria really does have good intentions. She hopes for a better world just like everyone else, and she’s sacrificing so much of her time to contribute towards it. The more she looks through these papers that Aria gives her, the more she comes to understand just how gross the world can be.

 

Aria is a genius with a big heart and Alana adores her with everything she has.

 

“Okay so, hear me out on this one,” Aria starts, pulling out one of the many papers and handing it over to Alana.

 

One of Alana’s biggest complaints about all of this is how tiring it is. Aria has a very strict policy against reusing ideas, and that’s fair, but trying to constantly come up with new and creative games that cater to the person’s faults? It’s one big headache, but it’s oddly rewarding.

 

“Nathaniel Hills,” she reads aloud, her eyes skimming the paper so she can get a basic idea of what Aria wants her to work with.

 

“Yes! I’ve been meaning to bring this up to you, but I think we should start messing around more with team games. I think he’d be perfect for one, I just have no idea how many people should be there.”  


“Can we talk more about him later?” Alana asks, frantically trying to finish the sketch for the game concept she’s been working on. “We should get working on this one soon, I heard she’s moving out of town soon.”

 

“I love you so much,” Aria grins, and the kiss that follows afterward makes her think that she’d really do anything to keep that smile there for as long as she lives.

 

Alana Beck’s world would be a cold and lonely place if Aria Ray hadn’t shown up and helped her see just how amazing the world could be if they worked together to make it happen.

 

* * *

 

 

The second game she had to oversee was one for a woman who went by the name of Caitlyn Adams.

 

Her last words before her ribs were ripped from her were pleads. Alana can still hear it all loud and clear. How she shook so violently that even she could see it, and how her breathing became more and more rapid as the timer counted down.

 

_“Please! Please I have a family. I have kids!”_

 

Alana remembers feeling jealous of that, because she’s still gotten no word of where her mom had turned up but her dad is dead and none of her siblings have made an effort to reach out to her. And then she remembers feeling so guilty for putting her in a position where she could be ripped from her family.

 

She realized that maybe, this isn’t helping people and decided to walk inside of the room to try and get her out.

 

The woman looked at her with such recognition and betrayal, and she felt guilty for not being able to figure out why Caitlyn might have known who she was.

 

_“I thought I’d never get to see you again.”_

 

And those were her last words before the game ripped her in half violently.

 

She still doesn’t know what that means.

 

But she didn’t have much time to think about it in the moment. Being so close to it all ruined her clothes and she was more worried about what Aria might say if she came back with the evidence staining her clothes.

 

* * *

 

 

“Lana!” Aria singsongs, and this time she sits in Alana’s lap, peppering her face with kisses. “I have a proposal!”

 

“You always do,” she laughs.

 

“I’ve been thinking through this, and you know how I mentioned group games?”

 

“Can’t forget when we’ve been working on trying to put one together for so long.”

 

“What about trials?”

 

Alana tilts her head to the side, “What do you mean by trials?”

 

“Instead of a single game, make the player face a series of multiple games. Not only would the player have to make sacrifices to save their own life, but the lives of other people would be in their hands, too.” Aria explains it so excitedly that Alana nearly agrees to it before she even lets herself think it through.

 

“Don’t you think it’d take a little too long to plan that out? I mean, how many games are we talking?”

 

“I’d say a minimum of three.” Aria nods, “It would take time, but think about how many people we could cram into a single game! I think it’d be a timesaver, actually!”

 

“Okay,” Alana says, trying to figure out how she’s going to try and argue with Aria in the calmest way possible because she might love her to death, but she’s seeing flaws in this explanation. She’s not trying to argue to start a fight, just to help Aria improve her idea because she deserves the world and nothing less. “But I don’t think we can throw just anyone in there.”

 

“What do you mean, love?”

 

“They all need to have some kind of connection,” she tries to explain, “If we threw in someone who ate his entire family along with someone who attempted to rob a bank, it wouldn’t make sense.”

 

“Right,” Aria responds, “We’re Jigsaw. Right? So everything needs to fit together perfectly. Just like a puzzle.”

 

She doesn’t like thinking of puzzles anymore. It’s such a weird trigger to have, but laying her eyes on anything that might be shaped like a puzzle piece makes her dizzy.

 

Alana loves Aria with all of her heart, and would do anything to make her happy, but that doesn’t make some of the things she does any less disturbing.

 

She doesn’t want to know what exactly Aria does with the pieces of skin she carves out of the skin of those who don’t make it out alive.

 

* * *

 

 

The memorable ones quickly end up becoming the ones that don’t make it.

 

The more games she helps to design, the more she helps to observe, the more she comes to realize that what they ask in return for helping to better these people’s lives is worth nothing in the grand scheme of things

 

They aren’t asking much at all.

 

Some people need a gentle shove in the right direction, and others need to be shoved off a cliff and into a pond of self-healing.

 

It’s proven to be useful, at least that’s what Aria reminds her every time she verbally expresses her doubts about it.

 

_“Remember Joe Tillman? The guy who scammed people out of their money for a living? He’s giving back, speaking out about it, helping people know how to avoid it. He wouldn’t have ever turned to that if it weren’t for you and your wonderful brain. He’s a better person.”_

 

_“Remember Leo Pineda? The man who couldn’t go a day without self-harm? Look at him now, he’s going to therapy, taking his meds, living a better life.”_

 

 _“Love, you can’t forget Martin Hooper. He beat his wife on the daily and he’s gone and done the noble thing; not only has he given up his life savings to his family, but he’s turned himself in. Reports say that once he gets out, he’s hoping to be a changed man.”_   


And who is she to argue against something when the results are right there before her eyes? Who is she to want to put a stop to something that really is helping people out?

 

* * *

 

 

It continues, even as school nears.

 

Alana can’t help but worry about how angry Aria might be about the possibility of school getting in the way. She loves Aria, and what kind of girlfriend would she be if she ended up making her unhappy? Maybe she’d have to turn to online schooling. She loves Aria, but if there’s one thing she’s certain about, it would be that she’s going to finish school.

 

What would everyone say if she suddenly dropped out?

 

Thankfully, when she brings it up to Aria, her eyes light up.

 

Maybe she should talk about school more if this is the reaction she’s going to get out of it.

 

“Actually, there are quite a few people that go to your school that I've had my eye on for a long time,” she explains, “I won’t tell you who they are, but I want you to give me names of people who you think could use a little shove in the right direction, okay? I want to know if we come up with the same conclusion.”

 

As much as the worries Alana, who is she to deny her girlfriend’s wishes? She can’t say no, not when she looks so happy right now.

 

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Aria tosses a folder in front of her, right on top of her homework. It causes some of the papers to go sliding off the desk, and the textbook to fall off with a sound loud enough to make her jump. The textbook only barely manages to fail at crushing her feet, which she is beyond thankful for.

 

She quickly scribbles that down, sure that Aria can use that thought to help develop a game idea later on. Because of school, Aria has made the decision for Alana that she will be taking over for most of it, her reasoning to that being that people might find it suspicious if her grades started dropping or if she stopped participating in school-related activities.

 

Alana’s thankful to have Aria in her life, someone who understands that school is still a priority.

 

“What’s this?” she asks, trying to hide her confusion because she’s not supposed to be designing any games right now, she’s got Calculus A/B homework to do.

 

“I need your opinion on this.”

 

“Okay?” she says, skimming through the information and failing to keep herself from frowning.

 

Sarah Wise, a person who looks like she’s content enough with her job, and who even works in a field that’s sole purpose is to bring down people who are wronging the world; she’s a detective, and nothing in this file that even she can tell Aria haphazardly threw together hints at her partaking in anything wrong.

 

“Aria,” she starts, her heart racing. She doesn’t want to say anything wrong, but she also knows that the last time she tried lying in order to spare Aria’s feelings, that didn’t go over too well either.

 

According to Aria, she is a very easy person to read. And Alana has nothing to back herself up from that claim because it’s true.

 

Maybe it’s wrong to want to work on that so she can avoid hurting Aria, but it doesn’t matter.

 

If Aria’s happy, then Alana’s happy. She’s going to ignore the tiny voice in the back of her telling her that’s only true because of how Aria lashes out on her where she’s in a bad mood.

 

She takes a deep breath and prepares for the worst as she tells her, “I don’t think she deserves a game?”

 

The most frustrating thing about Aria is just how unpredictable she can be. What sets her off changes as often as the wind changes direction, so it’s near impossible to try and avoid it. She’s been doing good recently, though, so the fading bruises around her neck and over her torso will take that as a victory.

 

She’s just getting by with pure luck, she realizes as she watches Aria’s face break into a beautiful smile.

 

“Yes! She is a good person!” Aria nods, “Just a quick lesson and I’ll let you get back to your homework, okay? I just think that this is important to know so you can get a full grasp on what is and isn’t right in the eyes of Jigsaw.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“What I’ve designed for her is what I like to call a Security Trap. Sarah is a good person, but she’s getting dangerously close to interfering with our safety. We can’t continue this if she exposes our identities to the public.”

 

“So, what you’re saying is that, even if she’s a good person, because she’s close to endangering our work, we have to get rid of her?” Alana pauses, “And if she gets out?”

 

Aria laughs and ruffles her hair, “She won’t.”

 

“But doesn’t that violate-”

 

“Security Traps follow a completely different set of rules, love.”  


Alana can only nod as she skims through the information one last time, “What about her partner? Percy Lees?”

 

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” she snorts, “He’s not the brightest.”

 

“What are you planning for her, then?”

 

“Putting her in a room with walls that close in,” Aria explains, and Alana is so thankful she’s at least on this end of the whole Jigsaw thing, because that sounds like a complete and utter nightmare. “But, we still do need to give her the illusion of freedom, so I need you to go in there, okay? You might get a little injured, but nothing too serious, I promise.”

 

She spoke too soon.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Glass Coffin.

She keeps going on. Despite the fear, despite the guilt that’s bubbling up inside of her, she has to keep going.

 

It’s one of those days where she doesn’t know if she truly loves Aria, or if this is fear induced. A defense mechanism. She has too many of these days, but instead of the fear growing stronger and stronger each time, she notices that it becomes duller. She wouldn’t say that it’s disappearing, just that she’s becoming more and more numb to it. She’s not as strong as she thinks she is. She’s stressed and tired and doesn’t know how to cope with it, so her mind’s deciding that the only way to get through this is to shut down.

 

She feels more numb than she can ever remembers being, than she ever remembers to be possible.

 

Alana knows she should feel angry about this, should feel betrayed that the person who’s claimed to love her more than anything else could ever possibly do is trying to throw her into a deathtrap.

 

 _But she said you’ll be safe,_ she reminds herself. Is she the one in the wrong for wanting to put the blame on Aria? What does it say about Alana when she can’t even trust her partner? She’s just overreacting, because aren’t relationships built on trust?

 

Alana chooses to ignore the reminder that the relationship she has with Aria only exists because of the trust she had betrayed with Amelia.

 

It’s odd to think about how the thought of Amelia still being held in the condition she saw her last time doesn’t bother her as much, if at all. Whenever it comes up, Aria’s words come flooding back into her mind, repeating themselves over and over until they’ve managed to drown out her own thoughts.

 

The anger and resentment she felt towards Aria just a moment ago has faded into guilt.

 

So she says nothing when the aforementioned woman walks into the room with a smile. Alana accepts the hug and kiss she gets before she starts driving her to the location.

 

She’s tried to ask Aria about the details, but these are ones she refused to share with her.

 

_“Why? Do you not trust me enough with your life? Do you even love me or is that a lie too?”_

 

Alana loves Aria, and she doesn’t want her to doubt that for even a second. That’s too much time, way too much for Aria. She’s had a rough life in terms of growing up, and Alana would hate to add even an ounce of anguish onto it all.

 

Alana doesn’t try to start a conversation on the way there, she knows better than to do that ever since Aria yelled at her the last time she made an attempt to fill a silence that she could only describe as suffocating.  


_“Can’t you see I’m not in the mood for talking? If I was, I would have spoken up first, Alana. Do you not care for me enough to respect my personal boundaries?”_

 

That’s when she learned a very important tip in life: around Aria, do not speak unless spoken to.

 

Aria doesn’t speak up until they’ve pulled up to the location. Alana goes to unbuckle herself and Aria rests her hand on hers. She looks up to meet tear filled eyes.

 

“I love you, and I promise that this is for the better, it’s for the future. Glass box, okay? Remember that. Glass box.”  
  
She isn’t given a chance to respond to that, to ask her what exactly she means, because there’s something jabbing her and then the world is fading. She tries to fight it, but she should know better by now that to try and have her own free will.

 

Not with Aria around.

 

* * *

  


When she opens her eyes, she’s seated awkwardly against a wall, her neck bent the rest on her shoulder. When she moves, she immediately regrets the action because _that hurts._

 

Eventually, she manages to hoist herself off the ground, and learns that her entire body is sore. She’d complain more about it, but she was too busy examining the unfamiliar room.

 

Metal walls, metal door that’s sealed shut, and a glass box in the middle of it all, raised at about what must be somewhere between a sixty to eighty degree angle off the ground.

 

_Glass box._

 

But see, the issue with the box is that the bottom of it is coated with a layer of shattered glass.

 

That can’t be right, can it?

 

She goes to the door, and is disappointed but far from surprised when it doesn’t open.

 

Was she wrong to trust Aria all along? There must be some sort of mistake, right? But no, that can’t be it, because thinking that would mean that she doesn’t have trust in Aria, and they’re supposed to have that in each other. Relationships are built on trust and what kind of person would she have to be to not trust her? That’s right; a terrible one.

 

Alana stands in front of the box, her back facing the door as she stares at it, tries to find meaning in this potential death trap.

 

Her thoughts are interrupted when she hears the door open, and she can’t help but grin as she turns around because _Aria’s here to get me._

 

But she’s never been more wrong. That’s not saying much, though. She’s wrong about a lot of things recently.

 

Instead, there’s a woman with blonde hair tied up into a ponytail with a gun in her hands, aiming it directly at Alana. The woman’s-- Sarah’s-- voice is leaking with venom as she speaks.

 

“Alana Beck, the one and only.”

 

“I’m sorry?” she splutters, “I don’t think we’ve met?”

 

In one quick motion, Sarah’s got her pressed against the wall, her gun pressing against her head.

 

“If I put a bullet in your head right now, I can stop it. I can stop the games.”

 

Alana’s starting to see just why this security trap thing was a good idea.

 

But why is it that Sarah thinks Alana’s the one running it all? Why does she think that a single bullet in her head alone would put an end to it all? What about Aria and Julian? They do the physical stuff, so why would it be that she’s the one they’ve managed to trace down?

 

“I don’t know what you’re-” she starts, and the pressure against her heads increases.

 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

 

“There’s more to it,” she tries, “There’s way more than you could think.”

 

“Uh-huh? What do you say about telling me about that glass coffin right there?”

 

“It’s.. I think it’s the key to safety.”

 

The response she gets is a harsh laugh, and then she’s being thrown to the ground.

 

“And if I were to throw you in there instead?”

 

Alana doesn’t respond. Sarah drags her to her feet only to throw her against the wall.

 

Aria said she would be safe. She has to believe that, doesn’t she?  


She doesn’t feel safe.

 

“The horrors you put me through today were inhumane,” Sarah tells her, throwing her against the wall again. The more Sarah speaks, the more Alana notices just how _crazed_ Sarah sounds. Like she’s been to hell and back. Maybe she has.

 

“You’re a fucking monster, you know that?” her voice is growing louder. This time she grabs her wrist, bends her pinky finger back so quickly that she can’t help but scream. “Do you enjoy this sick fucking fantasy of yours? Did you enjoy watching me have to decide which parent to hang?”

 

This time, she grabs a hold of her ring finger and bends it back.

 

Aria said she would be safe. She has to believe that because Aria’s her girlfriend and their relationship will go nowhere if she starts doubting that things she tells her.

 

Glass box. She needs to get to the glass box. Maybe the glass is fake.

 

Even better, maybe she’s just imagining all of this.

 

“You want me to go into that fucking glass coffin? I think we both know better than that.” her face is slammed into the glass box, and she hopes she’s imagining the blood that’s smeared over it. “Fuck you, fuck you and your sick games.” Sarah cries, “You ruined my life, so I’m going to end yours.”

 

Then she’s being pushed, face first into the coffin of glass, she screams.

 

When Sarah finally lets go of her, she tries to turn around, gasping harshly as the glass cuts away at her clothing and skin.

 

She feels lightheaded. And she might be imagining it, but she thinks the entire room has gotten a little darker.

 

The coffin starts leaning backwards, and she just wants it to stop because she can feel the shards digging into her back.

 

Just what does Aria consider as safe?

 

She thinks she gets her answer when she realizes that _the walls are closing in._

 

“You motherfucker!” Sarah screams, shooting at the glass, now completely even with the floor. It doesn’t break. “Fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you!” Sarah’s shaking now, her eyes wide as she watches the room around her close in slowly.

 

Sarah stares at Alana through the glass barrier between them, then starts hopelessly pounding at the glass. “You know you can’t stop it, right? You can’t get away with this. Someone will come along, this is pointless!”

 

Alana realizes with horror that she shouldn’t have made an effort to turn over, because the middle of this entire room is right above her. She feels sick when the realization dawns that she’s going to have to watch Sarah be crushed to death, and not just through a hole in the wall or cameras, it’s going to happen right above her.

 

When the room starts pressing against Sarah, squishing her, Sarah starts screaming louder. “Fuck you, you’re nothing but a coward in this world, you know that? Fuck you, Alana Beck!”

 

She’s not sure if she passes out because she’s overwhelmed from it all or because of the blood loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Games are.. really difficult to write.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can we talk?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please keep in mind the tags. I know a lot of these are heavy but I just feel this one needs a reminder.

When Alana comes to, everything burns. Her vision is blurry and she’s shaking, she’s shaking so much that she’s positive the entire world is shaking along with her.

 

There’s a pressure on her face, and she feels the need to scream, but she feels too out of it, like she’s barely managing to cling onto her life and expending any amount of her energy will only result in her death. She blinks, because her vision is still blurry. She can see what just might be Aria’s face, but she’s not too sure.

 

Perhaps Aria’s talking too, but being able to hear and comprehend what she’s saying is not something she can even hope of doing.

 

She keeps blinking, frustrated that her vision isn’t getting any better. It makes her headache worse.

 

As she fades back out of consciousness, she notes that, although she wouldn’t be able to guess in a million years what’s being said, that she can, at the very least, tell that there’s something around her making noise. It sounds a little closer than it did before.

 

The next time she wakes up, it’s a struggle to open her eyes. Everything still hurts, but she can confidently say that her vision has gone from 144p to a solid 360p, which is just as good as it’s going to get without her glasses.

 

“Lana?” Aria calls out, and Alana can’t keep herself from jumping because, instead of everything being quiet, she feels like they’re just a little too loud.

 

Or maybe it’s just the sound of Aria’s voice alone that startles her.

 

“You’re awake,” Aria sighs, and Alana has to go with the second option, because once Aria’s in her sight, the only thing she can think of is how badly she wants to run from all of this, from Aria.

 

Because she’s not safe, she can’t be after  _ that. _ She doesn’t want to do this anymore, not when her brain is screaming that spending any more time in her presence will only end with her closing her eyes and never opening them again.

 

Alana wants a lot of things for herself, but she can’t ever dream of achieving them if she’s too busy occupying a space in a graveyard. She’s still got so much waiting for her.

 

Aria can’t love her, not after putting her life in so much danger.

 

What would have happened if Sarah decided to shoot her? Sarah having a gun on her was, in no way, safe. And what if she ended up getting into the glass box? Would Alana have been the one begging for her life as the walls around her closed in?

 

Her first thought is to ask Aria, but she shakes her head at herself. She can’t keep doing this, not when she’s constantly giving and giving to try and make Aria happy and she gets nothing but trauma in return.

 

“Hey, hey, love, come back to me,” there’s a hand cupping her cheek, and she flinches away from it because  _ everything burns. _ She feels her heart start to race when she sees how Aria’s face falls, and then morphs into frustration.

 

She wants nothing more than to apologize over and over again, offer anything to make her feel better, but her throat hurts, and just thinking about trying to speak hurts.

 

“I’ll come back later,” Aria says simply, grabbing onto Alana’s arm and roughly pulling it towards her. She involuntarily yelps, and Aria doesn’t mention it. She puts a glass in Alana’s hand, and her brain is still trying to catch up, she can’t bring herself to actually hold onto the cup before it’s too late, because when Aria lets go, it slips from her grip and shatters against the floor.

 

The sound alone makes her want to cry, and thinking of shattered glass makes her mind go into a panic so overwhelming that she thinks she just might be dying.

 

She hears Aria sigh. “You’re cleaning that up,” is all she mumbles before she’s storming out of the room.

 

If Alana doesn’t even have the strength to speak, she doesn't think it's possible for her to clean the mess she made up.

 

She's kind of mad at herself. Maybe getting even just a sip of water could have helped to soothe her throat enough to be able to talk.

 

But she doesn't have much time to think about all the other ways that could have ended, because her eyelids are getting a little heavier each time she blinks.

 

Aria will understand, right? She has to. She has to understand that Alana isn't some indestructible object, that she has limits of her own and right now she really needs to rest. Maybe saying that out loud will help-- admitting that, instead of doing anything, all she wants to do is recover. Aria would have to understand, because they've known each other long enough for Aria to be aware that all Alana ever wants to do is help, so when she can't find it in herself to do it? She has to, she just  _ has  _ to find it in her heart to understand.

 

With the reassurance that she's had to provide herself, she allows herself to close her eyes again.

 

It feels like no time has passed at all when there's another loud sound, and she has no option but to think that it's the sound of glass shattering again. She's becoming very familiar with the sound of glass as of lately.

 

Alana's eyes search the room until they finally focus on Aria. Her headache feels worse, and there's not a doubt in her mind that it's because she hasn't been wearing her glasses-- she's noticed that, without them on, she can never seem to focus for too long, like her brain is focused so much on its struggle to see properly that everything else suddenly becomes unimportant.

 

But now? She thinks she might have found something that keeps her from getting so distracted when she doesn't have her glasses. She feels herself freeze up in complete and utter fear in response to the death glare that Aria's giving her.

 

She's got a handful of glass objects in her arms, and Alana isn't given much time to think about what exactly she's going to do with them until she hears a glass hit the wall right next to her.

 

"I asked you to clean up the mess you made, Lana," she hates how guilty the tone in Aria's voice makes her feel. Alana knows that this isn't her fault.

 

But does she really? How can she be so sure of herself?

 

How selfish does she have to be to not be able to listen to such a simple request? Aria has every right to be mad about it, doesn't she? Alana would be mad at herself, too-- she  _ is  _ mad at herself right now for not being able to make Aria happy.

 

Because, if she can't make her happy, what good is she?

 

Alana's pulled from her thoughts when an object goes flying past her, only narrowly missing her face and shattering on the bed frame. She can only lay there in panic as she feels some of the shards land on her.

 

_ Just what does Aria consider safe?? _

 

"I asked you to clean, love," Aria shakes her head, "I thought you could understand how busy I've been. How much of a hassle it's been to try and keep up with the work and watch over you," she throws another glass onto the ground, "And now can't you see the mess you're making?"

 

Alana knows she shouldn't be speaking, because her throat hurts enough as it is and it really does seem like an impossible task right now, but she has to say something. If she doesn't, it will only make Aria more frustrated with her, right? She can't have that. She's done enough damage.

 

"I'm sorry," she croaks out, just as Aria's about to let another glass free from her grasp. Aria pauses and looks up at her. Alana wants nothing more than to throw the blankets over her head and hug the pillow tight, wants to be safe from all of this.

 

But the world doesn't work like that. Not Alana's world so long as Aria's in it.

 

She's not even sure of the last time she actually felt safe, because the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that she's never felt safe with Aria.

 

All she feels when she's with Aria is responsibility, and maybe Aria feels the same way.

 

Maybe it would be best for the both of them if they split up.

 

Because Alana's always thinking about her future, and she, no matter how many scenarios she tries to conjure up in her mind, can not think up a reality where she's with Aria and she doesn't feel trapped.

 

That's what it's like with Aria. A trap.

 

She needs to get out of this. And she can. She knows she can.

 

Alana doesn't realize she's been crying-- and has absolutely no idea how long she has until Aria's leaning above her, brushing the hair from her face and wiping away her tears with her thumb.

 

It's moments like these that keep her here. She can't deny that, every time Aria shows even an ounce of affection, Alana finds her heart swelling and she finds herself craving more and more. It doesn't matter how long she has to wait until it happens again, all she wants is for there to be a next time.

 

How could she not want more? Aria's the only person who's noticed her, who's taken the time out of her day to try and get to know her and listen to her ideas.

 

Why is she being so ungrateful for that?

 

"I love you," Aria tells her, wrapping her arms around Alana and pulling her close. Alana chooses not to complain about just how painful it is, because the hug feels nice.

 

How could she ever want to get rid of this? How heartless does she have to be to want that?

 

"I love you too," she manages, "I'm sorry."

 

"I know you are, I know," Aria responds, "But I still need you to clean up the mess, okay? I'm really busy and stressed. It's a lot without you there to help."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"Yeah," she hears Aria kind of huff, "I know you need your rest, but can that wait a while longer?"

 

Alana kind of nods, because she knows better than to try and disagree with anything that Aria asks of her.

 

It's when Aria leans in for a kiss that she's reminded that she can't do this anymore because they aren't good for each other. They need some time apart, at the very least because Alana doesn't think she's ever felt so defeated.

 

She turns her head away before Aria's lips meet hers, and she can  _ feel  _ the way the energy in the room shifts.

 

She wants to take it back. This was a very very  _ very _ bad idea. Oh no.

 

"Lana, dear? What's wrong?" Alana swears that she can  _ hear  _ the ticking of the bomb that's about to go off. Alana's known Aria long enough to know that  _ that  _ tone in her voice means that she has just a few moments before it all crumbles before her.

 

"Can we talk?"

 

And she  _ has  _ to be the only person capable of making such a terrible situation  _ worse. _

 

"Sure."

 

There's no point in backing out of this. No matter what she says, she's expecting the worst out of it. When has she ever managed to make anyone around her anything but annoyed?

 

"I don't think we can do this anymore. I don't think  _ I  _ can do this anymore."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

" _ This,"  _ she answers, gesturing vaguely towards Aria, "I can't do it. This isn't good for me."

 

There's a moment where everything's still, where she's frozen under Aria's gaze and even her mind has seemed to finally stop functioning all together because this is all too much.

 

And she misses that moment so dearly when everything comes back into play.

 

Because one moment, she's waiting, hoping Aria will understand. And the next, all her hopes are being thrown to the ground and stomped on, over and over again because Aria's got her hands wrapped around her throat, screaming at her.

 

It's then that Alana realizes she's never going to get out of this.

 

Not alive, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alana's story is coming to a close, believe it or not. I'm planning to finish her story up before bringing the spotlight back to the boys.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Way Out.

The next time she wakes up, she’s in her own room-- or rather, not her room, because no matter how long she stays here, it doesn’t feel like home. She’s back in the room that her grandparents have been kind enough to let her occupy. There’s something cold being pressed to her face, and when her eyes finally allow her to somewhat focus, she’s relieved to see that it isn’t Aria who’s tending to her wounds, but rather, her grandma.

 

“You’re up,” she says, and she speaks in such a gentle manner that for a moment Alana thinks that Aria just might have killed her, because she doesn’t ever remember her grandma being such a gentle person. But she doesn’t believe in an afterlife, and refuses to believe that she would feel this miserable after death.

 

If she did believe in the afterlife, then maybe she’d consider the whole being dead thing a little more. Alana knows she hasn’t always been a good person, but as someone who’s been a part of Jigsaw? Who’s let herself be manipulated time and time again by the same person? She wouldn’t deserve a paradise. She would never be able to find it in herself to even think of arguing against an afterlife where she receives nothing good.

 

Why should she even consider the idea when she hasn’t even managed to do good for anyone around her? She can’t even make herself happy, and in her haste to try and prove her worth to someone else, to try and show to the person that was supposed to mean the world to her that she was worth the time, she only managed to prove just how pathetic she was-- _is._

 

“Alana? Hey, it’s okay,” comes her grandma’s voice, cutting through all the noise in her head.

 

She’s still in so much pain. But maybe trying to get a handle on her breathing might help her out a little. She goes to take a breath, and doesn’t know how she manages to have the energy to be surprised when she ends up choking back a sob.

 

Why can’t she keep it together? She has to be able to do that much because this is all her fault. It’s irresponsible to place the blame of this on anyone but herself, and she’s never been told she’s anything but a responsible person. And it’s fitting, she likes that, she likes letting other people think she has her life together.

 

But she can’t fool anyone when she can’t keep her emotions in check.

 

There’s a pair of arms wrapped around her now, and for a moment she thinks it’s Aria. She’s not sure if the twinge of emotion she feels is fear or excitement anymore. But this isn’t Aria, because she isn’t here, because Alana decided to ruin it all and tell her she couldn’t do it anymore, because she decided that she wasn’t strong enough to balance her life along with Aria’s, not when she was so demanding.

 

This isn’t Aria. It isn’t Aria because she isn’t here and there’s something different about the hug she’s receiving right now. While the hugs she gets from Aria are always stiff, and have always faintly reminded her of family reunions, where she would be forced into hugging everyone goodbye no matter how much they reeked of body odor or diapers-- whenever Aria hugged her, she always treated the action as if it were a chore, something to get Alana to shut up because expressing emotions was loud and annoying. They always lacked emotion.

 

But the hug she’s receiving right now? It feels real. Genuine. It feels warm and safe.

 

Aria never feels safe.

 

She feels guilty for thinking about it, for admitting that to herself, but it’s true. Aria has never felt safe. Even thinking about her now makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

 

Right now, she feels like she can close her eyes and not have to worry and worry about what could happen to her in that time, so she allows herself to do that. She allows herself to drift back to sleep.

 

She spends no time worrying about how angry her grandma might be because of her need for rest in order to continue, because that’s not something her grandma does.

 

When she wakes up, it’s dark. Everything still hurts, but she feels a little less tired. A little less unable to do things.

 

Her mouth is dry, she should drink some water because she doesn’t need anything else to pile up onto her terrible health. She finds a glass of water sitting on the bedside table, and tries not to think about how much pain she’s in as she reaches out to grab it, but her hand stops abruptly and she moves it back violently. She can still very clearly hear and feel glass flying past her, shattering and shattering again because she couldn’t even hold the cup Aria was trying to give to her.

 

How can she be so sure that Aria isn’t here?

 

So she opts to not drink any of the water, and instead chooses to stare blankly at the ceiling while she tries to give herself some motivational speech to get up and use the bathroom, and then maybe get something to snack on. But bathroom first because she _really_ needs to pee.

 

But if doing absolutely nothing but laying down is causing her this much pain, she doesn’t want to think about just how miserable actually getting up and moving around is going to hurt. She closes her eyes, mentally counts down from three before she finally forces herself to sit up. Everything stings and itches and she wants nothing more than for it to stop.

 

Her journey from the bed to the bathroom isn’t any less painful, but she does it.

 

When she opens the door, she sees her grandma outside, arms crossed and shaking her head.

 

“You should have called.”

 

She should have, but she hasn’t been doing a lot of things that would benefit herself lately. There’s no way she would have put much thought into calling out to ask for help, because _don’t speak unless spoken to unless you want to see Aria get mad._

 

“I know,” she tells her, even though that isn’t true. She tries to shuffle back towards the bedroom, slow enough to hopefully dull the pain at least a little, but she puts a hand on her shoulder and anyone would be able to tell she was lying if she said she didn’t flinch away.

 

“Can we talk?”

 

She would usually jump at an opportunity to talk, to chat away and try to get to know people better because that’s what she does, she talks and talks to people and doesn’t let them get a word in, she knows what’s said behind her back because of it, she doesn’t care.

 

Change all of those to past tense. Those are all things she’s still known for at school, but she doesn’t do it much anymore. She’s not even sure who she is, who she’s allowed Aria to make her become.

 

But does it matter if she doesn’t want to talk right now? No, it doesn’t. Because that’s what Aria’s taught her. So she nods, and her grandma follows alongside her on her way to the room. She waits for her to complain about how slow she’s being, That’s not something she would do, that’s something Aria would do.

 

They both take a seat on the mattress, and it’s a moment of nothing before her grandma finally takes one of her hands in hers, and she hears a sniffle.

 

“I know what happened.”

 

She can feel herself tense up. She doesn’t want to talk about this.

 

“I told your grandpa to leave you out of this, you know. You’re a lovely soul that doesn’t need it, you don’t need to be dragged into his sick fantasies.”  


“You know?”

 

She nods, like it’s a question she’s been asked dozens of times before, “I wanted to warn you, but it all happened so fast.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” she scrambles to say when she hears another sniffle, but her grandma shakes her head.

 

“I don’t know all about it, but there are other people involved, it’s more than just you. You aren’t special to Aria.”

 

She suddenly doesn’t want to hear any more of this. The truth is easier to deal with when it’s something she’s managed to only keep in her head. There’s something that makes it a little more real and difficult to deal with when it’s said out loud.

 

“But I need you to keep up with this, okay? Just a little longer. I’ve got a plan to get you out of there, okay?”

 

Alana wishes that her brain would stop being so indecisive. How it keeps jumping from wanting nothing more than to get far away from Aria to dreading the very idea of being more than five feet away from her.

 

Since when did everything get so complicated? Since when did she lose sight of what she wanted in her life? No matter what, it feels like there’s this weight pressing uncomfortably against her chest, growing more and more intense. She can’t help but wonder if this is what drowning feels like.

 

But she’s not going to think of that, because she helped Aria design a game where they put a glass box around a man’s head and added water into it. He didn’t die, but it was a close call.

 

She needs to get out of there, she needs to get out of this situation and she needs to drill that into her brain that only seems to grow a little more useless each day. She’s going to force herself out of this, because if it’s not her then she has no doubt in her mind that her grandma will do it herself, and she’d like to avoid being hit with various objects like shoes, thanks.

 

“Okay, I can do that,” she tells her, and she’s not sure if she can. She doesn’t want to put up with this any longer, but she knows better than to whine about it. The world isn’t a fair place, and sometimes she just needs to accept what she can get. She is not going to complain about there being a wait time to getting away from Aria. She can do it a little longer if that’s what it takes to be free.

 

Aria would continue without her, right? So it’s not like sacrificing her own life would put an end to it all, she’d just go down as another victim to Jigsaw.

 

So what if she has to take credit for a few more people’s deaths? She’ll do it if that’s really what it takes.

 

It’s not like she’s got any other options.

 

* * *

 

 

Aria still hasn’t shown up.

 

She doesn’t appear while Alana’s laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and dreading her existence because not only does everything sting, but it _itches_ too. She doesn’t visit while Alana spends hours in front of the mirror, examining her cuts as they become scars that are a little too visible. She doesn’t show up when her grandma comes back home one day with the gift of makeup to help her hide the most visible scars-- namely the ones that have taken their place on her face. She doesn’t come to provide fake comfort when Alana’s staring at her reflection, muttering curses over and over again to herself as she runs her hands over the scars because _they’re still too visible._

 

She spends way more time than what might be considered healthy trying to cover them up, because she’s so tired of seeing them everywhere. She wants them _gonegonegone_ because every time she sees just how disgusting she looks, all she can think about is how great it would be to peel off her skin and start again.

 

That makes her pause, her mind racing to try and figure out just why that seems so familiar to her.

 

Then she remembers the game she had started designing when Aria first came around and started giving her these ideas, forcing these sick views on the world into her brain.

 

Ecdysis.

 

It’s not too bad to have a plan B on hand, is it?


	33. Chapter 33

Alana’s sitting on the couch, spacing out on the tv while her grandma watches the news, mumbling something about it every now and then. Alana just nods along to whatever she says, and occasionally offers verbal feedback to avoid letting her think that she’s not really listening, because she is, it’s just that she’s a little more lost in her head.

 

But she’s pulled right out of it when the voice on the tv goes from a dull background noise to the loudest thing in the room, silencing her own mind and making it race and grow a little louder all at once.

 

“...Yet another Jigsaw trap. Authorities are still working on finding out just who is responsible for all of these deaths, and have reported that they will be putting more time into trying to track down the nameless murderer after they found the body of Detective Sarah Wise..”

 

It begins to fade back out again, and suddenly everything burns again. It’s been weeks and it all feels like it’s repeating itself, having a do-over. There are times when she closes her eyes that she can still see how Sarah’s face, horrified and angry and sad and lost all at once because that’s what people look like when they realize that their life is coming to an end, that there’s nothing they can do to stop it.

 

She wonders if all those “life flashing before your eyes” rumors are true, because from an outsider's perspective, it sure does look like it is. How else is she supposed to explain the split second where they freeze up and look like they’re somewhere else, somewhere better and happier and not about to meet some horrific end.

 

Alana doesn’t remember getting there, but the next thing she knows, she’s hunched over the toilet, ridding her stomach of whatever she had managed to eat-- which wasn’t too much, honestly. But it doesn’t seem to matter that she has nothing left to get rid of, because she can’t stop, can’t stop reliving that very moment.

 

She doesn’t hear the front door opening, the distant voices in the living room, or even the footsteps that grow closer and closer. All she knows is that, when the leans back, her head against the wall and eyes shut tightly as she tries to catch her breath, is that someone wraps their arms around her.

 

And she says someone because the hug she’s receiving right now doesn’t have the same familiarity as the ones her grandma gives.

 

It takes a moment to click, and she doesn’t think she has a right to be mad at herself because of it. Her mind is whirring and trying to process too much, trying to figure out how to cope with this overwhelming amount of guilt she feels and realizing that there isn’t really a productive way to cope with it, so it’s sent her into a full blown panic.

 

It takes a moment for her to place who it is, and she doesn’t want to confirm it to herself because the last thing she needs to do is start freaking out even more for literally no valid reason.

 

But it wouldn’t have really mattered anyway, because she opens her eyes to meet Aria’s, who is now grinning at her-- it’s fake, she knows it. But fuck, there’s no way she’s going to deny the way her chest warms up at the sight of her, because she’s _here to help._

 

“Aria.”

 

Aria laughs, and it sounds fake too, but her own stupid joy is louder than the tiny little voice in the back of her head telling her to run. “Hey cutie.”

 

She feels stupid for allowing just one word to make her feel so happy and smile so uncontrollably wide.

 

“I missed you,” Alana tells her.

 

Something in Aria’s gaze flickers for a moment, but it’s gone before Alana has the chance to even think of trying to identify what it was. Not that she would have too much of a chance, because one moment Aria’s smiling at her, and the next she’s crying, pulling her in for yet another hug.

 

“I missed you so much, love. I just thought you could use the space from me.”

 

She wasn’t expecting that, so all she can manage to say in response is, “Thank you.” Because how can she not be thankful for that?

 

“I love you so much,” Aria says, her hand rubbing Alana’s back. If it were physically possible to melt, there’s no doubt in her mind that she would. This feels _nice._

 

But then she remembers that she had told Aria she couldn’t do this anymore, and now she’s reliving the reaction Aria gave her and she wants Aria _gone._

 

She knows she can’t do that if she wants her escape plan to work, so she’ll play along. Is there really any harm in telling a few lies to the person who harmed her?

 

Fuck, okay, she’d be lying if she said that thinking of it makes her feel guilty, but she needs to continue on with it for just a while longer. Then she’ll be free, she’ll never have to worry about Aria again.

 

“I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alana had been doing all of her schoolwork from home while she recovered. She hates knowing that she’s been missing out on so many extracurriculars, but between going to school and having to try and dodge the questions of people asking what happened to her and having to deal with people pointing out her healing wounds or staying home and missing out on a little extra work? She’d have to choose the latter.

 

That being said, however, she would have really appreciated it if at least _someone_ came up to express their concerns to her, ask where she had been, or even acknowledge that she was gone in the first place. But by lunchtime, no one has looked at her any differently than they did before she disappeared-- which is to say that, they don’t really look at her at all.

 

It’s funny to think that, no matter how hard she tries to be seen, no one so much as bats an eye in her direction.

 

She’s busy throwing her little mental fit when someone plops down in front of her, setting their book down on the table. When Alana looks to see who it is, she’s surprised to see that it’s Evan Hansen. He’s looking at her nervously, and his mouth keeps opening and closing like he wants to say something, but his vocal cords have decided to go on a sudden vacation without any prior warning.

 

A few months ago, she wouldn’t have really been able to understand that, wouldn’t be able to wrap her head around the idea that there are some people out there who just, can’t speak sometimes. But she gets it now, how could she not after Aria added herself into the equation? She swears that she feels her heart stop for a brief moment. She’s not like Aria, is she?

 

“I- it’s nice to.. To see you back,” Evan speaks up, his voice a little too high pitched.

 

Alana feels herself grin. She knows it’s silly, but all she can think is that _someone noticed, someone cares._ She knows she should just say a quick “thank you” and let Evan get back to his book, but she’s hit with the realization that this isn’t Aria, that Evan isn’t someone who’s going to harm her or yell at her because of how often she talks. Aria hasn’t completely wiped her talkativeness away completely, all she’s done is taught Alana that she just can’t be talkative in her general vicinity. But she knows Evan Hansen of all people isn’t going to complain about it.

 

Is it wrong to take advantage of his anxiety? Sure, but she’s done a lot of bad things. Compared to designing traps and putting people into them, this is nothing.

 

“How’s the school been while I was away? How are classes? Do you happen to know who won student council president?” The last question angers her, there’s no denying that. She been elected as Student Council President every year since eighth grade, and to finally lose her streak all because her life decided to fall apart. Is it childish to wish for it to have started around now?

 

“School’s been-” Evan starts, and Alana truly can’t find it in herself to be guilty for talking over him; she’s got enough guilt sitting on top of her shoulders, if she starts letting the smaller, less significant things start getting to her now, she’s going to end up letting getting crushed under the weight of it all a lot sooner than she anticipated.

 

“While I was away, I actually ended up getting several serious injuries,” she informs him, even though she knows he probably doesn’t care. She wants to talk, dammit, so she’s going to talk and talk until her head falls off. “The recovery process was long, but I actually think I recovered pretty fast, considering how serious some of the injuries were. It really was the most miserable thing to think about just how much school I was missing out on, you know?”

 

Evan looks stunned for a moment, and he once again reverts to his default move: opening and closing his mouth like some fish, like that one Pokemon that she can’t quite remember the name of because there are bigger things going on in her life and the last thing she has time for is to memorize the name of some big orange fish that just.. flops around. Evan looks like he’s at a loss for words, and Alana genuinely thinks she should applaud him for not just walking away, because he looks like he’s considering doing just that.

 

“I’m- uh, wow, I’m really sorry to hear that?”

 

And he once again looks like he’s lost his mom in the grocery store and has no idea if he should run around looking for her or stay there in one spot and hope that she’s looking for him, so there, at least she let him say what he could manage this time around, she’s letting him speak.

 

Only, she manages to get just a few words out before the bell rings. She watches as Evan looks down at the book he had brought with him and sighs. She feels a little guilty about distracting him from it, but only for a moment, because there are bigger things she needs to be stressing about and wasting her time on small matters like this one aren’t going to get her far.

 

* * *

 

 

At the end of the school day, Aria is there to pick her up. Before she walks over to the car, she closes her eyes and just, tries to calm down her racing heart.

 

It seems that, instead of growing clearer, her thoughts only become more and more conflicted as the moment's pass. Is it too much to ask for her brain to come to some decision for what it wants to do??

 

Then she makes her way over, and the moment she’s seated and buckled up, Aria shoves her hand in front of her. Alana flinches back and then again when she hears the annoyed sigh.

 

“Do you have anything?”

 

And now she feels incredibly stupid, and like she’s in danger. There’s no way she managed to let herself forget something that Aria asked her to do, right? She has no recollection of Aria asking her to get anything done recently.

 

“..No?”

 

She curls in on herself when Aria rolls her eyes, and then kind of backs away from her, into the door when her eyes narrow.

 

“Stop doing that.”

 

“Stop doing.. What?”

 

Aria sighs frustratedly and then slams her hand on the wheel, Alana jumps.

 

“That! Stop doing that! Stop acting like I’m going to start hitting you at any given moment.”

 

She decides that, because she wants to avoid just that happening, she isn’t going to respond. Silence is much better than pointing out that Aria has done just that in the past.

 

Aria seems to give up on it for now, and Alana’s thankful for that much because anymore yelling might just send her into a full-on breakdown.

 

“I asked you to give me a list of names? Potential people to put into games?”

 

“Oh, right,” Alana nods, reaching into her bag and pulling out a folder. But she pauses before she hands it over to her, reaching into her bag again to grab a pen.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Crossing a name out,” Alana answers, searching for Evan Hansen. Because okay, maybe she still does feel a little guilty for talking over him, but after their short-lived conversation, there’s no way she’d be able to live with herself if anything ended up happening to him because of her-- what harm is he actually doing? Is having trouble speaking to a few people really worth dying?

 

When she hears no protests on Aria’s end, she goes to cross it out. It isn’t until she’s put the pen down on the paper that Aria takes it away from her without warning.

 

Oh no.

 

“Evan Hansen?” she reads with a grin that makes her feel sick. “We’ll have fun with that one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: maybe I should stop listening to music while writing, all it does is distract me. ://  
> Also me, five seconds later: Way down, Hadestown, way down under the ground-


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags!! Check them and stay safe!!

“Are you.. Sure about that one?” Alana tries, her voice wavering a little as she tries to ignore the look Aria’s giving her. “I mean, I don’t see the point of it?”

 

The look she’s receiving kind of makes her feel like an idiot, and that’s one of the worst feelings. Aria covers it with a smile that just _screams_ ‘danger ahead,’ and in her attempt to not try and react because Aria had yelled at her about it no more than a couple minutes ago, she ends up _trembling._

 

However, Aria seems more fixated on the explanation she’s preparing to give Alana, one of the very long and detailed explanations that she gives every time Alana finds the confidence to outwardly question her motives when she brings up a person along with a trap idea; they always leave Alana believing that Aria believes she’s trying to explain things to a three year old that can’t stop asking ‘why?’ every five seconds.

 

“I don’t think I’ve given you an example of a person whose self destructiveness has a reached a level where, not only are they harming themselves, but those around them.”  


Alana frowns, “Mental illness isn’t something that should be punished.”  


Aria waves her hand dismissively, “Mental illness is just some sad and poorly executed excuse to get away with not wanting to do certain basic tasks. I’ve had my eye on Evan for a while, and honestly? Just looking at him makes my blood boil. Do you know exactly how ungrateful he is to have the life he does now? Kid with a single mother adds to the burden by demanding therapy and medication.”

 

“Aria,” Alana starts, in as gentle of a tone as she can manage. She doesn’t want to hear this, but she also knows that arguing against it isn’t going to end well for her so it’s ultimately a lose-lose situation. “That’s not true, I don’t think he’s being selfish-”

 

Aria cuts her off by slamming her hand on the horn again, effectively shutting her up. “You’re letting your emotions get in the way of your clarity, love. If you thought he didn’t deserving of a game, his name wouldn’t have ended up on your list in the first place.”

 

* * *

 

 

Shaun Cohen.

 

Another game, another name to add onto the every growing list of people whose deaths she’s had to watch.

 

It feels like something’s turned off in her brain, like she’s finally managed to find the switch that shuts it all down, shoves her emotions deep deep down. All she can think of as she watches the contraption twist his body around, twist his arms and legs full circle along with his head, is that it’s not as difficult to watch as it was with Sarah.

 

Because at least she’s not the one in danger.

 

* * *

 

 

“Xander Greene,” Aria calls out from her side of the room while Alana sits on the floor, going through flashcards for her exam next week. She can’t help the sigh that escapes her; Aria’s been at it all day since picking her up from school, naming off people for whatever trial she’s been working on.

 

Alana doesn’t have too much of an idea about it, because every time she asks, Aria dismisses her by saying that it’s a work in progress, that Alana won’t be able to understand it all just yet. The most she knows is the lists upon lists of people that she keeps suggesting.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Aria kind of jokes, sitting next to Alana on the floor and leaning against her.

 

The voice in the back of her mind telling her to back away from it, that Aria isn’t safe, gets a little quieter each time they have moments like these, the times that Aria isn’t yelling at her. Every time something like this comes about, she grows a little more convinced that maybe she doesn’t need that plan to escape from this, because why would she want to?  


There’s a sick part of her that kind of misses it when Aria treats her like shit, like she’s the biggest burden to ever roam the earth. Is it possible to become addicted to the feeling of a constant metaphorical weight pressing down on her chest, making her feel so trapped all the time? Because that’s what she feels around Aria, and she hates it as much as she never wants it to go away.

 

There’s a pile of papers being placed into her hands, and she wants to melt when she realizes the way that Aria’s hands linger on hers a little longer than they should.

 

“Here’s your first example of someone who needs to better appreciate their life in general, love,” Aria starts as Alana skims through it. “In a relationship with Nathaniel Hills, a toxic one at that. A very, very toxic relationship. He’s tearing himself apart, letting someone abuse him and staying despite multiple warnings from friends and family along with multiple opportunities. All of it seems to show just how lost he is, how devastating he is to his family. Don’t you think we can give him a little shove in the right direction?”

 

That sounds way too familiar.

 

She doesn’t like this.

 

She doesn’t like this and she wants out of it right now.

 

But she has to wait, and she can do that. She can wait, put up with it a while longer if that means she never has to hear something like this again.

 

“Are you..” she starts, clearing her throat when she hears just how scratchy her voice sounds, “Are you sure-”

 

“There’s more to him, love,” she cuts in, yanking the papers from her hands. “But that’s all you need to know now, okay?”

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew Holden and Chantelle Bautista.

 

A simple game, really. This one was based on teamwork. Aria had said something about how couples needed to have more trust in one another, so she did a game to do just that, to either make or break the couple’s trust.

 

Matthew has his hands inside of a glass box, with holes at the bottom just big enough for his arms to go through. The catch? They’re surrounded by razors, cutting into his arms everytime he tries to pull them back. There is, however, a combination lock that can set him free, he just needs to listen to the string of numbers that Chantelle has been given.

 

That’s all. That’s it. Aside from the timer.

 

Matthew’s hesitation ends up being the death of him-- or, the two of them. The moment the timer reaches zero, it sets off several nail bombs off.

 

Chantelle dies first and Alana leaves Matthew to bleed out without being there to watch it.

 

She’s got homework to do.

 

Maybe the lack of reaction she has towards this isn’t good. But that’s okay, it means she can deal with it before it all comes crashing down on her.

 

Maybe it already has. Maybe that’s what's wrong with her.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where do we get the funds for all of this?” Alana asks out of the blue one day, feeling herself begin to panic when she remembers to _not speak unless spoken to because it makes Aria mad._

 

But today’s a good day for Aria, or maybe she’s just pleased with the question itself-- she can never tell. Aria’s not something Alana is sure she’ll ever be able to even come close to figuring out. And maybe it’s better that way.

 

“Your grandpa helps with funds,” she answers, and Alana can’t say that surprises her. “Along with this other guy recently-- Mark? I don’t know, but actually, the game I’ve been working on is all on his request.”

 

“I thought Jigsaw is all about making the world a better place?” Alana asks. “I mean, is it okay to do that? If we start putting people in games who haven’t earned it then-”

 

She’s cut off with a stinging against her cheek. Aria isn’t looking at her with anger, she’s looking at her with this sickeningly sweet smile that sends her into more confusion than should be possible. Even as she speaks, her tone is neutral.

 

“We need the funds, love. Unless you happen to be hiding your wealth from me and can fund it yourself, we need to carry out small requests like this. What’s a few innocent lives if it means ultimately making the world a better place?”

 

Alana knows better than to try and argue with her. “What’s the next suggestion, then?”  


“Mia Fernandez,” she tells her, finally handing over the papers she’s had turned face down in her lap.

 

Alana drops it the moment she gets a glimpse at her picture.

 

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

 

“Small sacrifice to pay for a better world,” Aria reminds her, leaning in for a kiss, which Alana avoids.

 

“No. That’s-- we’ve been putting _adults_ into games, Aria.”

 

“What about that list of students you gave to me? Aren’t they children?”

 

“They’re.. They’re almost adults. Most of them are nearly seventeen,” Alana tries to justify.

 

“Still children nonetheless, as are you,” Aria hums, “Meaning I’ve got more of a say in this than you ever will.”

 

“Didn’t you just turn eighteen?” Alana asks.

 

“Still gives me more authority.”

 

And she’d love to pointlessly argue about that, she’s not going to let Aria drag her off topic. Not away from something so important.

 

“You can’t.. She’s barely nine!” She exclaims, pointing at the birthdate on the paper. “You can’t do this Aria. I have to draw the line at this one.”

 

Aria stands, tilting Alana’s chin up to look at her. “You don’t get a say in this,” she says simply, before walking out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

“What did you _do??”_ Alana demands one day, slamming her hands on the counter, which Aria’s sitting on top of, sipping a glass of orange juice.

 

“Hm?”

 

“No. No, I’m not doing that,” Alana shakes her head. “You know what you did.”

 

“Lana love, you’re gonna have to clarify.”  


Alana has never felt this mad. But Aria’s always managed to achieve the impossible. It’s all been piling and piling and piling together and she feels like she’s burning up. She doesn’t know if she can put up with this. She doesn’t want to. She can’t.

 

“What did you do with Connor Murphy?”

 

“That’s none of your concern.”

 

“It is!” Alana shouts. Aria stands, and although they’re both around the same height, she has never felt so small next to her-- again, achieving the impossible. She feels her anger disperse and replace itself with fear. Because no matter how angry she feels, no matter how frustrated and mad at Aria for the things she’s done and continues to do, she can’t forget that, in front of her stands the same person who nearly killed her.

 

Aria raises her hand, she flinches back. What she doesn’t expect is for her to kiss her. When she pulls away, she leans closer to her ear.

 

“I’ll forgive you just this once, love.”  


* * *

 

 

“Please, please tell me you can get me out of it sooner,” Alana begs, her body trembling violently.

 

She doesn’t want to do this anymore. She can’t. She can’t. It’s too much, too much guilt and it’s killing her so slowly that it’s only now that she’s noticed just how bad it is.

 

She wants out. Right now. There’s no way she’s going to take credit for the death of a child who has done nothing wrong.

 

“I’m doing what I can,” her grandma tells her, “Hold out just a little longer, okay?”

 

It feels like her whole body goes cold, like it’s rebelling against the harsh reality. Alana nods, “Okay,” and then she steps out.

 

Goes into her room-- but it’s not really hers because it still doesn’t feel like home here, not with all this suffering, with all this pain she’s come to associate it with. She locks the door. Heads towards a drawer where she’s hidden a razor blade.

 

 _For protection_ she had told herself, when really all it is is her plan B. Because why would she ever believe that she could outsmart Aria?

 

She keeps the light on, looks down at herself, at all the scars that litter it.

 

If they almost killed her the first time, maybe the second will.

 

I mean, what’s the harm in reopening a couple scars? They aren’t going away. They aren’t going away so she’ll do the next best thing and get rid of herself.

 

Because then she won’t have to worry about hiding them every day. Doesn’t have to stress for hours in front of a mirror before she goes to school.

 

Doesn’t have to try and put up with it all.

 

It stings. Everything stings. And when she looks down, all she can see is red. She hopes her grandparents can forgive her for staining their carpet.

 

As it all gets duller, she swears she can see Sarah, staring down at her with so many emotions, her words filled with rage and disgust-- all aimed at her.

 

_Fuck you, Alana Beck. Fuck you._


	35. Chapter 35

He’s tired. His head hurts, it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open long enough, but his brain has it out for him 25/8 and has decided he isn’t worthy of sleeping, and instead would much rather prefer keeping him up, staring blankly at his roof because his everything else is exhausted and he can’t be bothered to move. Evan has a passing thought that maybe he’s having some sort of panic attack, and that’s reasonable. It is. There isn’t any other explanation he has for how jittery he feels, no other explanation for the way his stomach is clenching uncomfortably.

 

But his brain has used up all its energy on panicking, keeping him up that it doesn’t have any energy left to spare for him to care about it. He hates these panic attacks the most, the ones where he can feel all of the physical effects but it's like his brain has shut off all the emotion, because it can't bring itself to cope with that.

 

So he lies there, numb and shaky and tired but unable to rest.

 

He decides to reach for his phone, exhausting energy he doesn't have because if he's not going to sleep, he's going to do something to help pass the time.

 

But he decides the world is completely and utterly against him when he realizes that staring at his phone is giving him a headache. Which is, inconvenient. But he can work with that. He turns on some music and places his phone face down on the bed.

 

Evan Hansen is clearly not allowed anything that makes his life easier, obviously, because the sound isn't helping either.

 

So he shuts it off and goes back to staring at the wall because the universe has collectively decided that this is what his purpose is in life: to do nothing useful and dread every moment of his existence.

 

Hasn’t he suffered enough? What exactly did he do to cause the world to want to go after him so often? He’s lost an arm, killed a kid whose grave he’s going to visit tomorrow, and he can’t even get a tiny moment of joy? He’s tired, please just let him sleep. He’s sure that, if he does manage to sleep, it won’t be long before he’s waking up again, because nightmares are all that ever seems to greet him recently, but he’ll take it. He’ll take it because at least then he knows it’s fake. He’d rather spend the rest of his life having nothing but nightmares when he sleeps over the hell that’s his reality.

 

He’s tired, but he can’t sleep because he feels like he would during a panic attack, except without all of the emotions, so he doesn’t sleep. It seems like time has both slowed down and quickened all at once, because then his alarm his going off.

 

Evan had set his alarm to one of his favorite songs back then, hoping that maybe hearing it while waking up would help give him a little more excitement, make him feel a little bit less pissed about having ever woken up at all.

 

Lazily reaching for his phone, he squints at the screen to find that his battery is low, sighing deeply while he reaches for the charger and plugs it in.

 

The room got lighter, easier to see in. He doesn’t remember that happening. Maybe he actually did end up getting some sleep?

 

But he doubts that. In fact, he feels like he’s dead on his feet, like he’s some eternal being that hasn’t been allowed so much as a nap for years.

 

He doesn’t want to get up, and he doesn’t want to visit Mia. He wants to run away from the reality of it all and sleep.

 

That’s all he wants: sleep.

 

Evan’s pulling the blanket up and over his when again when his phone vibrates. He decides he’s going to ignore it up until he vibrates again, and he sighs then goes to pick it up.

 

He’s got a text from Connor and one from his mom. He doesn’t bother opening the one from his mom, using the autoresponse feature in his phone to send an “Okay” to her “I left money on the counter for you!” text.

 

But he opens the conversation with Connor because their plans for the day is the main reason that he didn’t end up getting any sleep. He wishes bitterly that they could have been friends without the traumatic experiences having to bring them together, he wishes they would have better plans that would keep him up all night in excitement, rather than because he was dreading it so much that staying up was the only way he knew how to delay it from happening.

 

He can’t dwell on that, not right now. He’s not going to sit here and dread everything because it’s all just so unfair.

 

 **Connor** : heading over right now

  
>Getting ready!

 

He forces himself out of bed, away from the warmth of his several blankets and pillows, and rubs at his eyes. He swears that he can feel the exhaustion seeping into his skin. He’d love more than anything than to reassure himself that he’ll allow himself to take a nap the moment he gets back home, but his sleep schedule is poor enough as it is and he doesn’t need anything to help further prove that getting his life together is not something that he’s capable of comprehending or can ever hope will be in his vocabulary.

 

He’s trying. He trying to get better, trying to do it as quickly as possible, and that has to mean something to Jigsaw, doesn’t it?

 

So no, he is not going to take a nap when he gets back because that just might be what makes Jigsaw decide that he needs to be pulled into another game.

 

Evan kind of freezes, staring at the wall as he tries to process his own thoughts. Great. He can’t even decide if he wants to give up or not.

 

What does his brain even do at this point? Because all it seems to be doing is running around in his head and trying to make things better while violently slamming a red button very clearly labeled  _DISASTER._

 

Which, okay, mood, but he’s supposed to be the one fucking things up while his brain screams at his idiocy from a distance.

 

He shakes his head, blinking a couple times and then putting like, 90% of his focus on just, getting to his dresser and despite it being no more than a couple steps away from his bed, he puts way more effort than is healthy into it.

 

Evan goes to grab one of his polos, but then remembers that he’s going to visit a grave. He should be dressing nice.

 

So he goes for a collared shirt, tie, and dress pants, the shirt and pants being a size too small, and that more than slightly annoys him because he just wants to be comfy, but Evan tells himself that he has no right to complain about his own comfort when he’s going to visit a kid whose death he took a part in.

 

And that’s when it all hits. The reality of it all.

 

It’s real. This is all really happening.

 

Not a dream, not some sick nightmare. This is his reality.

 

He doesn’t want it to be. He doesn’t. It’s so unfair to everyone, but he’s feeling selfish right now, so all he wants to talk about is how unfair it is to him.

 

Evan doesn’t want to have a mind that hates him, and sometimes it becomes so so overwhelming. Too much. It’s always too much. He didn’t need Jigsaw to add onto it, didn’t ask for anyone to make it worse.

 

He should have climbed higher. He should have fallen a little more wrong, should’ve broken his neck an died before Jigsaw could get to him.

He starts pacing back in forth in his room, tugging at his hair violently, rubbing and scratching at his scalp because maybe if he makes enough noise on the outside, he won’t have a chance to focus on the chaos inside of his head.

 

It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Nothing he does is ever enough.

 

Then he stares down at his doorknob, recalling several articles he had read about people hanging themselves on them, wondering if that would work.

 

There’s a knock on the door, and he jumps. Then sighs.

 

Another day, he tells himself as he walks over to the door.

 

Assuming that it could be no one else but Connor, despite him not remembering getting a text from Connor saying that he was here, he opens the door without checking to see who’s outside.

 

Which ultimately proves to be a big mistake, because, while Connor’s there, there’s an extra person who’s got a hold of him.

 

Evan barely has the time to process that Amelia before she’s shoving by him, dragging Connor right behind her.

 

Fuck.

 

That can’t be good.

 

This can’t be good.

 

He looks over to Connor to try and determine whether or not he’s overreacting, and the panicked look on his face does nothing to help calm his nerves.

 

So he starts reaching behind him, eyes darting all around the room in search for something that just might be able to get them out of this, something that he can use as a weapon.

 

He might sometimes be okay with Jigsaw putting him in another trap, but he’s never okay with them getting to Connor again.

 

Connor deserves another chance, he deserves to make things right and be a better person and recover.

 

Evan doesn’t deserve a third chance, so he’ll go out while trying to get Connor what he deserves.

 

But before he can grab onto anything, Amelia’s got a hold of him and is shoving him down onto the couch. Connor goes to move, and she pulls a gun out of her belt, aiming it at him. He slowly and reluctantly sits back down. Amelia puts it away after taking a step back from the two of them, staring them down like they’re two children who just got in trouble for breaking a glass vase.

 

“Amelia?” he speaks up, his voice just barely above a whisper.

 

Amelia pulls something else out on him and he doesn’t have any time to process that it was not in the same holster as the gun was because all he can think about is how he’s going to die having lived the world’s most disappointing death.

 

But instead of hearing a loud bang and then feeling anything painful, there’s no noise and something wet hits his face.

 

Evan opens his eyes to see that Amelia’s aiming a fucking water gun at him.

 

He hears Connor snort, and Amelia shoots some water at him too, before putting it back and rubbing at her temples.

 

“You two are dumbasses.”

 

“I- sorry?” Evan sputters.

 

“Do you even want to help with getting rid of Jigsaw?”

 

“Oh fuck off, we got the laptop,” Connor cuts in.

 

“Yeah, I know. But you never got into it,” she sighs, pulling out her water gun and squirting him again.

 

“I am not a fucking cat-” he starts, standing.

 

“Yeah, no. Sit down.”

 

Evan, not wanting her to pull an actual weapon out on Connor again, grabs a hold of his arm. Connor looks back at him and gives a long sigh, sitting back down in the most childish way he’s ever seen.

 

“I’m being serious. I need your help.”

  
“Why did you wait so long to bother us again?” Connor asks.

 

“Because I wanted to give you your space to try and recover from it!” she snaps, the volume of her voice making Evan flinch. “Fuck, sorry. Sorry. I just, I took the planning to myself, I got help with setting it all up but-”

 

Evan watches as Connor’s eyes kind of widen, and he scoots closer to Evan. Which is nice. He’s warm and absolutely safer than Amelia is right now.

 

“Then what do you need us for?”

 

“Look,” Amelia starts with a sigh, “You have to know I wouldn’t ask this if I didn’t think there was some better idea out there-”

 

“Spit it out.”

 

Amelia nods, then glances down at the ground, takes a deep breath, and locks eyes with Evan. “I need a favor from you.”

 

He feels Connor tense from beside him. He doesn’t speak, giving a sort of nod at her and hoping that’s enough of a signal to get her to continue.

 

“This is a game set up for all Jigsaw members,” she pauses, “Fuck, no, not you Connor, you’re okay. But your dad? He’s part of it. And I've got a design that’s going to bring him to justice.”

  
He nods again.

 

“And this is crazy, but I promise I’m not endangering your safety at all. You’ll be okay, you’ll make it out-”

 

“No.” Connor interrupts.

 

“What?” Evan asks.

 

“No,” Connor shakes his head, “I’ve heard that before. You’re not putting either of us in a game again.”

 

“Connor-” Amelia starts, and Connor shakes his head, standing up abruptly. Amelia reaches for her holster, but Connor grabs it from her, throwing it onto the ground.

 

And Evan can’t even tell just how quickly it happens, all he knows it that Connor’s got her against the wall and his fist is clenched. He finally scrambles off the couch.

 

“Connor, stop-” he starts. “Stop it. Please.”

 

“We can’t trust her. She wants you in a game, Evan.”

 

Evan focuses his attention on Amelia. “If I do it, will it really help?”

 

“It will.”

 

“Bullshit,” Connor shouts in her face. Evan notices that he’s shaking. “Bullshit. Design another one and leave us out of it.”

  
Evan stares between the two of them, his mind racing.

 

Maybe going to visit Mia’s grave would have been better than this. Sure, he might have been kind of wishing for something to delay it but.. Not this.

 

If this ends up killing Evan, he wants to die at least knowing that he tried to do something semi-heroic, maybe that will make his life a little more significant.

 

Maybe Amelia is tricking them, but maybe this can be his apology to the world for never being good enough.

 

Maybe he doesn't deserve to die having forgiven himself for what he's done, doesn't deserve to live to learn to love himself, and doesn't deserve having the chance to off himself.

 

He knows he does, but he doesn't really feel like he's got a choice in this.

 

So, he tells her: “I’ll do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I'm sorry for how long it took to put this up. I told myself I wasn't going to write until I finished my English assignments and therefore ended up doing absolutely nothing for a week shakagaj


	36. Chapter 36

Waking up has been becoming more and more like some tragedy rather than a blessing, something that she dreads and hopes never comes along a little more every day. Because it’s difficult to have something to look forward to when all her life consists of is so inhumane, so cruel and dark and terrifying.

 

She’s had plenty of morning’s where she’s woken up and had this nearly overwhelming anger settle in her gut, because she had spent all of the previous night thinking, hoping that maybe she wouldn’t have to face another day.

 

Alana’s had plenty of moments where she’s been pointlessly mad over waking up, but this time takes the cake.

 

Because this was the one time she really thought she had died, that she finally wouldn’t have to live with that guilt that’s been building and building up inside of her, that she’d never have to put up with another moment of confusion, trying to figure just what exactly to act on because every thought she contributed towards Aria only added to the mess of her trying to figure out just what she really wanted.

 

Everything hurts, and it’s bright, unlike the last time she had woken up. She’s in a hospital.

 

Which means that, at the very least she’s getting some proper care for herself rather than being limited to whatever Aria can give her.

 

But being in a hospital is the only difference, because after she opens her eyes and blinks a couple times to try and get used to it all, she finds someone sitting in the chair next to her bed.

 

And of course, it’s none other than Aria, whose got her arms crossed and is fixing Alana with a glare that makes her somehow feel even more dread than she did before she had lost consciousness.

 

She only entertains the thought of shutting her eyes and pretending to sleep, because as nice as it would be to just keep her eyes closed until Aria leaves her alone, she's already taken too long to act. There's no turning back now because she's already made eye contact with Aria, who stands abruptly, placing her hands over the bed and looming over her.

 

Alana wants to ask how she even managed to get in, ask for names and who allowed her and demand of someone to never let her within fifty feet of her again, but Aria has her own methods of getting in and there’s not a single doubt in her mind that Aria would manage to find another way in-- another, more violent way.

 

And she’s not about to put other’s lives at risk just for the sake of her feeling a little safe for a moment in her life. She couldn’t allow herself to live with that guilt.

 

Then again, there’s a lot of guilt weighing down on her that she’s told herself she wouldn’t be able to carry-- which is something she’s managed to do, something it seems the world had forced her to, but at what cost?

 

It’s weird to think, but she doesn’t think she’s much of a person anymore. No person could ever bring themselves to watch and do the things she’s done.

 

She’s a monster that tried to take the easy way out. Maybe that’s why she’s still alive, because she doesn’t deserve to get away from it all, because she has to face the things she’s done.

 

Alana is deserving of a lot of bad things, and apparently death has morphed into a good thing.

 

“Lana,” Aria starts in the sickeningly sweet voice that, at this point, she’s learned can mean nothing good.

 

She lifts one of her hands from the bed, and Alana flinches violently.

 

The actions also enough to set her heart monitor off.

 

Aria frowns, but instead of lashing out on her, pulls her hand away and steps back to sit down again. And then it’s silent for a long while, which Alana is more than fine with. The less talking she has to do, the less likely she’ll end up being yelled at.

 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Aria speaks, her voice quiet, like she’s afraid speaking any louder might shatter the glass that Alana's become.

 

And she's right to think that. Alana's not too sure if she can handle anything else. She already feels overwhelmed enough in the eerily calm environment.

 

She chooses not to speak, because the more she thinks about talking, the more she realizes just how sore her throat feels, and the dread she feels towards trying to speak makes her want to.. not.

 

Aria reaches for Alana's hand, which she pulls away at the expense of feeling a stinging pain.

 

Aria doesn't push this time, and instead brings her arm to rest in her lap.

 

"You have to know I didn't mean for that to happen," she continues, "I've been- I know I've been a little.. unfair to you, but I only did what I thought was-"

 

"Get out," Alana interrupts. She doesn't want to hear this. She can't bring herself to hear it because she knows she's idiotic enough to believe every word.

 

Then she’s hit with the realization of just what she’s said when the soft and sweet look on Aria’s face drops and becomes this horrifyingly blank look that almost makes her wonder if there had ever been any emotion there in the first place.

 

“All I ever want to do is love you, and give you everything you could ever want. I’m doing all of this for  _ you.” _

 

“No, no no no. You were doing this long before you met me.”

 

Aria gives this sad sort of smile, but it doesn’t sit right on her face. The emotion doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s for you, me-- both of us, love. I’m trying to make the world a better place.”

 

“Get out.”

 

Aria stands so suddenly that it makes Alana stop breathing for a second out of pure fear. She shuts her eyes and waits for a blow that doesn’t come.

 

And she opens them again when she hears the door shut.

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t visit again. Not while Alana’s in the hospital.

 

And there’s a sick fucking part of her that misses Aria, but the more time she spends away from her, the more she begins to realize just how bad of a feeling the whole “missing” her thing is. It’s like an empty hole in her heart that was forcibly put there, one she knows can heal if she just gives it time, but she’s got none to spare and would much rather keep the thing that put the hole there in the first place, no matter just how damaging that could be.

 

Maybe that’s why she fell back into her old and disgusting habits so quickly the first time Aria turned up out of nowhere.

 

But there’s something about knowing she’s got more protection against it even if she does come to visit, that she just might make it out of another visit of Aria’s without feeling so scrambled, that makes her not want to leave the hospital. And that’s one of her most ridiculous realizations yet because she’s never liked hospitals, or missing schools.

 

It’s even more alarming to realize that school isn’t on her list of priorities. She’d drop out, give up on the future she had planned out so thoroughly if it meant that, in turn, she would get her safety.

 

So she acts out more. Tries to prove to everyone around her that she needs to stay here. That she’s not safe. And if that means turning towards more self destructive behaviors? So be it.

 

* * *

 

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror one day and stops dead in her tracks. Then she blinks a couple times, rubs at her eyes, blinks again. Pinches herself because this can’t be happening. She refuses to believe this is real.

 

Absentmindedly, Alana reaches out towards the mirror and just.. touches it, her hand recoiling the moment it makes contact because that's  _ glass  _ and even though it's not shattered, it's all solid and in one piece, she swears she can feel it piercing her skin.

 

She doesn't look like herself. She remembers looking into a mirror once and feeling her own confidence reflecting off of it. Remembers seeing how young and hopeful she looked for the future that lies ahead of her and, even despite all of the work she had thrown onto her constantly from school, it never took a toll on her, not physically.

 

But now, as she stares at her reflection, she's covered in scars, so many of them. Too many.

 

Thinking about getting out of here, throwing herself in an environment where people are sure to stare makes her feel woozy. She doesn’t want to get out of here. Thinking about throwing herself into an environment where she's still expected to be unproblematic; the perfect child that works hard and gets into all the colleges she applies to with perfect grades and happy parents.

 

But now, as she stares at someone who she can hardly identity as herself. She’s become everything she never wanted to be.

 

She doesn’t want other people to see this mess. Not when it’s so obvious.

 

It’s just a little easier to hide just how unstable and unworthy of praise she is when it’s all inside her head. It’s when it all starts translating to her physical health when the mask starts to fall apart at the seams.

 

The world gets a little shaky, and before she knows it, she’s curled up on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. It’s hard to breathe. It’s so, so hard to breathe. And she wants out of this. She wants to make some time machine and drag herself out of this, because it doesn’t get better, it never gets better with Aria around.

 

And yet, even with that thought in her mind, she still can’t help but think that it’d be nice to have her here, comforting her, helping her get through this.

 

Because, really, Aria’s the only person that’s actually noticed Alana, and has spent so much time in getting to know her and befriending her and giving her support.. Sometimes.

 

There are so, so many bad things about Aria, and Alana’s sure she’s the worst person on this planet.

 

Even so, she’s also the nicest person that’s ever found their way into Alana’s life, and that realization might just be what scares her the most.

 

Alana Beck wants Aria Ray in her life just as much as she wants her out of it.

 

* * *

 

Alana’s never been one to not follow up with her plans, to not follow them to the ends of the earth until she’s finally achieved what she’s set up for herself and her future.

 

But times are changing, and she should have known that she wouldn’t have been able to keep up this act much longer. The hospital has to let her go eventually, she can’t stop stalling.

 

At least, her time here has given her a chance to think through what she wants to say when she sees Aria again.

 

Alana’s been around her long enough to know that Aria won’t let her go unless she makes some kind of deal. Her plan, along with the many alternatives she’s come with, might be more than a little selfish and cruel, but she’s noticed that it doesn’t really.. Bother her anymore. Self-preservation has kicked in full force and she can’t be bothered to care about it. She’s getting out of this at whatever cost it takes.

 

She’s busy hyping herself up when she feels a hand on her shoulder, and she can’t tell if the way her heart speeds up is because of just how excited she feels or because of the dread settling over her.

 

Both. It’s both, she decides. It has to be.

 

Aria takes her face in her hands, and Alana allows it. She allows Aria to kiss her and she kisses back because she can put up with that. She can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

 

When Aria pulls back, she looks a little confused. “You alright, love?”

 

“I think I needed this,” she explains. “I missed you.”

 

It hurts to think that she’s telling the truth.

 

Aria’s eyes light up, but not in the same way a kid does on Christmas morning when they finally lay their eyes on the presents around the tree, but more like someone guilty of a crime who’s just been declared innocent.

 

“Maybe you did need this,” she mumbles, kissing her again. “I think you’ve earned yourself a couple more days to rest if you want it.”

 

“Actually..” Alana starts. It’s now or never. She has to do it now while it’s still on her mind. While she’s still got the confidence to talk about it. This could be her last shot at freedom, and although she might not be certain, she’s not about to risk it. “I was wondering if we could talk? Somewhere private?”

 

“Depends,” Aria responds.

 

“I’ve got an idea I think you’ll like,” she tells her, and thankfully that seems to do the trick. Aria wraps her arm around her shoulder and leads her to her car.

 

They don’t speak until they’ve sat down in Aria’s living room, where she’s promptly shoved to sit down on the couch while Aria stands, towering above her, arms crossed.

 

“And what’s this idea of yours, love?”

 

“A game,” she blurts out, and her stomach churns when she sees the way Aria’s lips quirk up.

 

“Go on.”

 

“No, no I think I want to until I’ve made a deal with you.”

 

Her smile drops, “That’s not how it works.”

 

Alana stands, walking over to grab a handful of papers from the counter. She hands them over to Aria.

 

“I’ll create a game for every single person in your hitlist right now, knock them all out in one long and complex game.”

 

Aria pauses, looking over at the large stack on her counter, the small portion of it in her hands, and then back at Alana. “I’m listening.”

 

“But you have to let me go after it’s all done.”

 

“And if you fail?”

 

Alana hesitates. This is where it becomes more confusing. It’s becoming a gamble.

 

But then again, when was it not?

 

“You decide.”

 

Aria hums, tapping at her chin before she finally says, “I’ll decide just what I want if it ever comes to that, then. Do we have a deal?”

 

Alana doesn’t like the sound of this.

 

But something’s telling her that this is as good of a deal she’s going to get. She doesn’t have to worry about the consequences if she doesn’t fail her end of the agreement, and she won’t let that happen.

 

She shakes Aria’s hand, “Deal.”

 

Aria holds out the files in her hands. Alana takes them.

 

“I’ll leave you to it.”

 

She’s left in the living room, unable to keep herself from smiling because  _ she’s going to be free. _

 

Until the world seems to all come to a sudden stop when she opens the first folder and is greeted with her own face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry y'all. I've been procrastinating on this and school's also been a time consuming pain in my ass. I'm probably more frustrated about how long this update took than anyone else is tbh sadjkhasdjk. But it's here and i'm alive and almost done with the next two updates.(I started working on them before I realized I didn't want them to be in this update oops) So i've got that going for me.


	37. Chapter 37

“Please tell me you’re fucking with us,” Connor begs, breaking a tense silence that lasted too long for his liking. “I refuse to believe you’re stupid enough to agree to that.”

 

When he looks at Evan, he's met with this pain and fear that only makes him want to yell more. Potentially coming off as a toddler is the least of his worries. If that's what it takes to get Evan to change his mind? He'll scream and shout all he wants.

 

"Is it.. can you explain the game idea to me?" Evan asks. Connor can feel himself defuse at the question (but only a little). At the very least, Evan's trying to figure out just what he's getting into this time around. That  _ has  _ to be enough to get him to change his mind, or else it's back to the immature protesting until he gets his way because he might be seventeen but there are times when he acts like he's no more than three.

 

He watches as Amelia opens her mouth, then promptly shuts it as she knits her eyebrows together and frowns. “How about emailing you the blueprint along with the plans?” She must catch a glimpse of the look Connor’s giving her, because she adds onto it just as it Evan goes to speak, her voice a little louder. “Not that I’m uncomfortable with sharing! It’s just, the whole thing is so much right now and it’s all a big mess. It’s there, and you two are free to go over it. I’ll write the explanation down, give you all the information you ask but-” she locks eyes with Evan. “I know what it’s like to go through all of that, and I’d never put you in a position that would put you in danger, okay? You’re not.. You’ve gone through enough. Your safety is at the top of my priority list.”

 

It doesn’t matter just how touched Evan looks at her words, if there’s a universe where Connor  _ doesn’t  _ call Amelia out on her bullshit, then whoever told him about it is fucking lying because there’s absolutely no way a place exists where his bullshit detector doesn’t start ringing more obnoxiously than a siren wailing down the street.

 

“If you really prioritized his fucking safety, you’d come up with a new plan.”

 

“I’ve already told you that I-”

 

“And I’m telling you that what you’re saying is complete and utter bullshit!” he interrupts. “You forget that I’ve been a part of it too-- I’m not as dumb as you think I’ve been. For fuck’s sake! Evan’s original game went through so many rewrites that I’m surprised we didn’t abandon the entire fucking project!”

 

It’s only then that he realizes just what he’s said, and he can only dream of a world where no one had caught his slip up, because from the stillness that’s settled upon the room, it was the one thing that stood out, And that’s fair, logically thinking, but Connor is not someone who thinks about things logically. He’s pissed at himself and horrified all at once.

 

He’s dragged out of his thoughts as he watches Evan, with his tear filled eyes, run upstairs and into his room, slamming the door shut. He’s sure that he can hear the sound of the door being locked too.

 

When he looks back over to Amelia, he’s blinded by another splash of water. He can’t find it in himself to get mad over it. He’s sure it doesn’t even come close to what he deserves.

 

“You didn’t tell him?”

 

“You knew?”

 

“The knowledge I have on people is my only bragging right, dude.”

 

“I didn’t..” Connor starts hopelessly, “How do you even bring that up?”

 

“Not to be one of those people that tries to lecture you on just about every bad thing you could have avoided if you had just spoken up, but you.. you should have just told him?" Amelia frowns, "This is all- well, it's fucked up and confusing, but you two need to talk to each other. Suspicion isn't doing anyone any good."

 

He knows she's right, but that doesn't mean he enjoys hearing it. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it and wincing a little when he feels a couple strands come out, shaking his hand to get them off. "Fuck, I know. It's.. I'm not the best at this. It's.. just," he sighs, "You'll get the plans to us, right?"

 

She nods, "Give me some time to make sure it makes sense to anyone that isn't me."

 

"How quickly do you think you can do that?" Connor asks, aware that he sounds impatient and childish but not caring.

 

Amelia hums, tapping her chin and moving along to some unknown beat before saying, "Couple hours, probably." Then, she takes a step to the door, her right hand gesturing vaguely in the direction of Evan's room. "But you need to deal with that first, yeah?"

 

"Yeah, shit," he mumbles, mostly to himself because Amelia opens the door and leaves, not paying his response any mind.

 

The door clicks shut, and he's left to deal with this fuckup that he absolutely could have avoided if he just.. had some decent fucking communication skills. Shit.

 

Finally, he begins his walk up the stairs, standing in front of the room that he guesses must be Evan's, and he only knows he's right because of the labored breathing he can hear coming from the other side of the door.

 

The knocks once, and it stops abruptly. He waits for something- anything to happen, but it doesn't.

 

He's pretty damn sure that Evan isn't even breathing right now and it makes his heart hurt in a way that he just might be able to deem more painful than it felt during his entire stay with Jigsaw.

 

And he has no idea how the fuck that works.

 

Maybe it's because he grew so horribly numb to it, the horror of it all probably became so unbearable at one point that his brain just, shut it all down.

 

Or maybe it was because he never really had a connection to the people. He felt guilty for his role in it all, but there's something different about it now when he looks back with his part in Evan's game. There's this added weight of the reality of it all.

 

He might not have known Evan back then, and he.. definitely had a lot of negative emotions towards him, but standing here now, in front of this shut door and realizing that he could have missed out on the friendship he's developed with Evan.

 

Connor can feel it all falling down on him, the realization that he's killed so much potential for so many people, but right now it's not about him. He can't bother dwelling on something that's already gone when he's got another thing right here in the present that he just might be able to salvage.

 

"Evan," he finds himself saying a lot quieter than he expected, unsure if he'll be able to speak up.

 

If he feels this fragile, he doesn’t think he can even begin to imagine just how terrible Evan feels.

 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, hoping to break just how silent the house has become, and to just give himself a little more time to sort out his words. Whenever he’s in some important situation where words become more important than ever, his brain always seems to take that as a signal to let the dam that keeps all his thoughts from flooding his mind all at once collapse.

 

It’s certainly not the first time he’s found himself wishing for a brain that didn’t seem like it was actively plotting against him.

 

"I'm sorry about.. about not telling you sooner, it's just, there's so much already going on in our lives already, it’s.. There’s so fucking much to unload and actually sit there and think about it and I don’t think it’s all really.. I don’t think I’ve actually processed it all yet. I wasn’t.. I did what I had to do to make sure I wasn’t just, tossed out and left to die, and..” he sighs, shuts his eyes tightly and takes a second to breathe because he’s realizing that this just might be it. His inability to bring this up, or maybe his original part in it all and admitting to having put Evan into that situation, is going to be what ruins this friendship that’s only just begun.

 

He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to lose the only person that seems to  _ understand. _

 

And not just the whole JIgsaw thing, he knows there are plenty of survivors out there. Fuck, if he really wanted to, he could stir up some friendship with everyone else that made it out of that godforsaken house, and maybe he will because even his self-destructive ass knows that clinging to one person for support isn’t healthy, but it wouldn’t be the same.

 

The relationship he’s growing with Evan can’t be replicated.

 

Connor watches as the doorknob turns, and the door opens, revealing Evan with a red tear-stained face, rubbing at the back of his nose with his hand and sniffling.

 

He’s changed his mind. He’s changed his mind he’s changed his mind he’s changed his mind.

 

He’d much rather do this with the door closed, with something to protect him from the backlash that this is going to give him, something to give him a headstart to run and hide and just. Be anywhere that isn’t here.

 

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he realizes he’s shaking, and Evan’s looking at him with so much kindness and he’s being so patient. Connor doesn’t deserve this, and he wants nothing more than to look anywhere that isn’t Evan and step away because he’s a monster. A selfish monster that’s been avoiding the truth because it would have taken away from this.

 

The world has never been kind to Connor Murphy, he should have figured that this illusion couldn’t have lasted forever.

 

“Evan,” he starts, his voice quiet. “Your first game. That’s was.. I was there. When you fell,”

 

It takes a second to settle in, but Connor can see the exact moment that the realization hits him. Evan’s eyes grow wide, his face falling.

 

As someone who’s had to bear witness to plenty of people’s last moments, to have to see the horror settles in as they realized that they aren't making it, that they’re going to die and never get their justice because everyone knows Jigsaw isn’t going to be found unless they want to be, this, right here, has to be the most heartbreaking look of betrayal he’s ever seen.

 

Evan takes a step back, hand recoiling as if Connor’s this dangerous thing. Like he’s a blade that he’s accidentally made contact with.

 

“You..” Evan starts, looking down at his arm-- or the stub where it used to be. He goes from shocked, too lost, too sad, back to lost, and then finally settles upon a mixture of it all. “You did this?” he asks, voice cracking.

 

The thing that stands out most to him, however, is how hopeful he looks when he asks it, like he’s hoping Connor’s playing some cruel prank on him. Which, he’s kind of offended by but at the same time, he gets it. He really does.

 

Because sometimes it’s better to indulge in some alternate reality you’ve made up in your head even when the cruel reality of it all is staring right back at you.

 

There’s a voice in the back of his head that kind of sounds like Aria, responding to the question with a  _ No, you did this to yourself. _

 

But Connor Murphy isn’t Aria Ray. He is so, so far from what she is. He can own up to what he’s done. He doesn’t have to use her bullshit manipulation techniques just because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s fucked up.

 

So, even if he’d rather avoid it, he’s admitting it, because he wants to prove to himself that he’s not part of Jigsaw, that he doesn’t stand for what they do. He takes a deep breath.

 

“I did.”

 

He shuts his eyes and expects the worst expects his confession to somehow bring out this anger in Evan that probably hadn’t existed in the first place.

 

And when he’s pulled into a hug, there’s a million reasons for his confusion.

 

Connor’s not complaining when the hug becomes something that lasts a little longer than what’s acceptable. Evan’s hugs are one of the best things on this fucking planet and anyone who disagrees is someone that he’ll fight because fuck them.

 

“I kind of.. Want to be upset,” Evan starts with a weak laugh, “But I get it. This is.. There’s a lot. You did what you had to to make it out of there.”

 

“I don’t think you should be letting me off the hook this easily-”

 

“Can we talk about it? After this next one?” He interrupts.

 

“You can’t seriously be considering that,” Connor responds, “You shouldn’t. That’s.. It’s not our problem anymore.”

 

“I want to help.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Connor insists, “I’ll talk about it all right now. We can, we can sit down and cry our hearts out and agree that this is all so fucked up and then avoid it.”

 

Evan finally steps back from their prolonged hug, getting a better look at Connor. He shakes his head.

 

“I don’t wanna hear about it until I’ve made it out of there,” he grins, “The only thing I’m going to let kill me is my own curiosity.”

 

"She hasn't even given us the plans yet," he reminds him, because he doesn't want Evan throwing his life around so recklessly. He needs him to actually think through this, at the very least. "You shouldn't.. you should wait."

 

Evan huffs, "I don't think it matters."

 

Connor's not going to let up on this. "You can't- please just,  _ look  _ at what the fucking plans are!"

 

"I have to do this." Evan interrupts, his voice quiet but determined.

 

"You don't."

 

Evan's eyes narrow, and he shakes his head.

 

Connor doesn't even have time to figure out how the fuck he's supposed to react to his anger when it all comes crumbling down, anger morphing into distress. And then his face is red and his eyes are filled with tears.

 

"I deserve another game. I- Connor I  _ killed  _ Mia and I.. I  _ have  _ to do this. I need to make up for it."

 

"That's not your fault, you didn't know."

 

"I still did it."

 

"You don't have to do this to make up for it," Connor tells him, growing more frustrated and hopeless. He doesn't know how he's supposed to get through to him.

 

"The games.. they weren't.. they didn't work the first two times. They're.. they're supposed to help, aren't they? I'm not.. I'm not supposed to be this mess that I am anymore," Evan pauses, "Third times a charm, right? Maybe I'm not supposed to make it out of this. I'm not.. the games don't fix me like they do with everyone else, that's- maybe I'm broken beyond repair."

 

"No, no, Evan. Come on. That's  _ not true." _ It feels like his heart is breaking. He swears he can feel it happening, can feel his heart falling apart because there's a pain in his chest that  _ hurts and burns and he wants it to go away _ .

 

Connor has  _ never  _ seen anyone look so  _ hopeless. _

 

"I want it all gone, Connor. I don't want to feel this.. this  _ miserable  _ all the time."

 

"They don't fix anything, they don't. The games don't help," Connor shakes his head, reaching out to place his hands on his shoulders because Goddamnit he will  _ shake  _ some sense into him if he has to.

 

"Why are you so worried?" He asks, "You don't trust Amelia?"

 

"She worked with  _ Jigsaw." _

 

"So did you."

 

"Not by choice."

 

"That doesn't.."

 

"No, no I'm not hearing any of that bullshit," he interrupts. "This isn't about me. It's about  _ you  _ making the dumbest fucking decision possible."

 

"Connor-"

 

"Evan-" he interrupts. Again. But Evan continues.

 

"I have to do this-"

 

"Bullshit! You know you don't!"

 

"Yes I do-"

 

In a spur of the moment decision to try and get Evan to understand that he  _ can't  _ do this, that he needs to  _ listen  _ and actually give a fuck about his well being, in a moment where he's desperate to try and get Evan to understand that his life isn't something he can just, throw away..

 

He kisses Evan.

 

Evan freezes up, before he steps back, staring at Connor with wide eyes.

 

"Evan-" he starts.

 

"I'll look over Amelia's plans," he tells him, frowning. "Can we just-- can we talk about this later?"

 

"I'm sorry, that was so fucking stupid-"

 

"We can.. when it's over, we can talk about it."

 

Connor isn't given a chance to respond, because then Evan's bedroom door is being shut in his face.

 

He takes that as his cue to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote something to go along with this chapter, but I don't think I can comfortably place it anywhere so, it's probably just going to live in my drafts forever.


	38. Chapter 38

Alana blinks.

 

Then she blinks again, rubs at her eyes, blinks a little more. Even goes as far as pinching herself.

 

Yet, to her dismay, she’s still there. Her pictures there and she probably has no right to be as surprised as she is when she looks through it and finds that Aria’s got an excessive amount of information on her. She shuts her eyes, hoping in vain that maybe this is some nightmare.

 

But she should know better. This is all way past just what nightmares are capable of.

 

This is her reality.

 

She sets the folder down, standing up and walking around the room in circles as she flips through them hopelessly. She doesn’t bother learning the names, she doesn’t think she wants to, or that she can if she wants to get out of this without having completely lost it.

 

She’s going to have to learn how to move past a few things if she wants to truly make it.

 

And that means she’s maybe going to have to stop caring so much about names and backgrounds and whether or not they truly deserve to be there or not.

 

Because it’s all been taking its toll on her, and with this pile? She’s not sure how much of that she can withstand anymore.

 

But that doesn’t make her a monster. It doesn’t. She’s just.. Trying to get by.

 

It can’t make her a monster because she’s doing this to take care of herself, to make her life better. That’s got to be some form of self care, right? She’s sure some Self Care account on Twitter would approve of this.

 

How this all affects her is what matters the most.

 

That thought process all comes to a screeching halt when her eyes land on a picture of someone who looks too young.

 

She pauses, and she swears she can feel her heart stop.

 

Baby face, she tells herself. This is just, a very severe case of baby face.

 

That doesn’t stop her from double checking, however. And she really fucking wishes it had.

 

She doesn’t want to see this.

 

Alana takes the picture and storms into Aria’s room, where she’s sitting in a swivel chair and reading a book.

 

Alana doesn’t bother knocking. Aria’s never put forth an effort into respecting her privacy, so she sees no reason why she shouldn’t give her the same treatment.

 

It’s not like it even bothers her. Alana’s not exactly sure of just what manages to bother her that isn’t Alana’s very existence.

 

But that seems to be the end of her little burst of confidence, because she doesn’t speak up, she waits for Aria to finally look up at her, for her to speak first.

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“Do you think you’ve maybe.. Made some mistake?” She asks, although she knows it’s a longshot. Aria had never come off as the person to make mistakes.

 

Everything always seems like it follows the path of this plan that Aria laid out long ago, and now she’s just decided to sit back and watch it all happen.

 

Alana doesn’t think she’d be able to figure out just what’s going on with that.

 

“Mistake?” she repeats with a frown, and then she’s standing up, tearing the picture from Alana’s grasp. She takes one look at it, letting out a harsh laugh. “This? Mark Hansen’s daughter. He wants her gone.”

 

She swears she sees red at that.

 

“You can’t.. that's not..  _ Aria,  _ you can't do this-"

 

“And I’m not,” she grins, shoving the paper back into her arms, “It's all on you.”

 

“You  _ know  _ that this isn’t right. You can’t go around claiming that you’re doing this to make the world a better place, that you’re only targeting people who deserve it and need some kind of spiritual awakening or- this doesn’t help any-”

 

Aria slams her hand against the wall, and Alana doesn’t ever want to have to admit to just how violently she flinches back.

 

“If we happened to live in some perfect world, this would be cruel,” Aria starts, “But this isn’t perfect-- it’s so, so far from it, really. If taking the life of some insignificant child makes our main source of income happy? If that’s what it takes to reach our end goal? Does it even matter?”

 

“She’s just a kid-”

 

“She’s barely got any friends, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up turning out like Evan Hansen,” she grins, “Have you seen the mess he’s gotten himself into? All it took was hiding some note I took off of him in his room and it was set. All that lying? It’s not going to get him far. The world needs less Evan Hansen’s, maybe getting rid of that kid is doing us more of a favor than you think.”

 

_ “She’s just a kid!” _

 

“I’m not forcing you to do this, you know,” her smile grows, and she swears that every time Aria smiles, it gradually becomes less and less.. Human.

 

“I..  _ come on,  _ Aria, you can’t tell me that this is  _ right-” _

 

“A deal’s a deal,” she snaps. There it is. Anger. The only real emotion she thinks she’s seen from Aria. She finds a little bit of comfort in that.

 

But instead of pausing to try and figure out just why she does, she storms out of the room. Out of the house, and back home.

 

* * *

 

Aria’s always a couple steps ahead, always knows her enemies better than they know themselves.

 

But what if Alana manages to throw that system off?

 

She’s smart. She knows that.

 

Two can play at this game.

 

* * *

 

When she sees Amelia again, she looks better. Which is.. A relief. Last time, she’d looked like a corpse.

 

And she would know. She’s seen plenty of those.

 

Aria's not around this time, and maybe that explains the way that Amelia's eyes light up at the sight of her. Like she's being reunited with an old friend.

 

"I didn't think I'd see you again," she frowns, "You look tired."

 

Alana can't respond. She can't. She doesn't deserve Amelia's kindness when she'd done nothing to help her out in the past. She doesn't deserve her worry.

 

She also needs to stop letting her emotions get in the way of things, because maybe that's why Aria's always so organized. If she can just.. figure out how to shut it all off, maybe she'll have a better chance at having the upper hand in this.

 

Or maybe she's playing into Aria's hands. Maybe she's already thought this far ahead into it.

 

She doesn't know. She doesn't know anything, really, but she can't waste time doubting herself.

 

Because that might be something that Aria's expecting from her, too.

 

Alana doesn't respond to Aria, and instead drops a pile of papers in front of her-- the beginning of her plans for this mess that she's gotten herself into. No time for small talk, she has to make sure that Amelia looks over these, that she’s got something to share with Aria so she doesn’t grow suspicious. So she can remain distracted.

 

The way Amelia’s face falls does something to her heart, makes it feel like it’s been crumpled into a pathetic ball and tossed into the trash, so she turns around and doesn’t look back at her.

 

It’s easier to pretend she isn’t hurting someone else when she doesn’t have to look at them, when she doesn’t acknowledge them and see the way that the betrayal settles upon her features.

 

She just has to keep her head up and her eyes on the prize.

 

Maybe that’s the secret. Maybe that’s how Aria’s mind works.

 

Only time will tell, she supposes.   
  


* * *

 

Alana’s packing her things into her backpack to head back home from Aria’s when she walks into the room.

 

There’s something in the way that Aria walks that radiates a little more smugness than usual, and when she looks up to see her smile, she can feel her stomach twist in knots.

 

Aria may not be capable of producing smiles that feel, but there’s always something different about them, something that helps to tell them all apart.

 

This is the dangerous one. The one that makes her feel glass on her back and a needle being jabbed into her neck and Sarah yelling at her and looking at her with such disgust and betrayal and-

 

“Going home?” she asks, and her voice is so sickeningly sweet that she wants to run. She wants this to stop. She wants all of it to stop and she has no fucking clue how Aria manages to flip the switch on all of her emotions but she’d like the secret to it all right now because she doesn’t like this. She doesn’t like that she’s so terrified she can’t even will her legs to carry her far far away from all of this. She needs a break. Just a tiny break.

 

But she knows better than to try and run away right now, so she responds with a simple, “Yeah?”

 

“I wouldn’t recommend that, actually,” her grin morphs into something a hell of a lot wider than it was just a second go. There are alarms blaring in her head. She’s got a feeling that whatever Aria’s about today is something she doesn’t want to hear. “A little birdy told me that there was an.. Accident over there.”

 

She frowns, mostly to herself, because that doesn’t make sense.

 

And then she feels her heart stop when it clicks.

 

No.

 

Nonononono. She can’t..

 

Well, jumping to conclusions isn’t going to do anything, so she clears her throat and demands, “What did you do?”

 

“I didn’t do anything,” she tells her, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I just, you know, happened to hear that granny slipped in the tub.”

 

“Is she okay??” she demands, feeling herself lose whatever tiny pieces of composure she had left, because.. Because that can’t.. Aria can’t do that. She can’t go around taking out everything good from her life. That’s not fair. That’s not fair.

 

None of this is fair.

 

“From what I’ve heard, she died shortly after.”

 

“You didn’t.”

 

“Me?” she asks, pointing at herself for emphasis, “No, not this time, love.”

 

Alana feels her heart start to race, tears stinging the back of her eyes as it sinks in.

 

She wishes she lived in a world where she could entertain the idea that this is all some very sick and cruel prank. This has all passed that. She is so, so far passed all of it.

 

She wants nothing more than to let out the anger that she can feel building up in her, to scream and shout until her voice is raw.

 

Anyone should know better than to even think of trying to harm Aria.

 

Alana would rather not risk getting thrown into another game because of doing or saying anything stupid.

 

So, she bites her tongue, grabs her things, and storms out.

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t know why she still bothers to hope for anything good in her life. It never happens, and it only leaves her feeling more lost and hurt and a complete and utter wreck.

 

Maybe seeing the paramedics rolling her grandmother’s body out on a stretcher is what finally does it for her.

 

* * *

 

One glimpse in the mirror has already shown Alana that she looks like a mess, that she doesn’t look like a functional person and looks dead on her feet.

 

It doesn’t matter, not during the summer. She shouldn’t have to try and keep up appearances when she’s not in school.

 

All she had wanted to do was sleep, and then sleep some more and never leave her bed because, when she’s bundled up in a pile of blankets in a bed with too many pillows, she can pretend for a little bit that everything isn’t so bad.

 

Up until the tears start flowing again, at least.

 

But then Aria had shown up and teased her for wanting to just,  _ grieve. _

 

She isn’t being given the time to try and heal. The wounds are still so fresh but she needs to get this done. She needs to push past this and ignore the crippling weight settling upon her shoulders grows more and more each day.

 

So that’s why she gives herself a little slack when she slams a folder down in front of Amelia before she can get a word of concern out about her appearance.

 

“I need you to build this game in particular within two days.”

 

Amelia frowns, opening the folder and pulling out admittedly poorly sketched plans. “Even if I worked nonstop, I don’t think that’s possible-”

 

Alana cuts her off by slamming her hands down on the table Amelia’s sitting at.

 

Maybe she’d feel a little more guilty about the way she jumps if she weren’t feeling so tired and worn down and mad at the world.

 

She hasn’t even been allowed the time to properly grieve her grandma, so forgive her if she’s feeling a little moody.

 

“Make it happen. There are other people around that help too, right?”

 

Amelia chews at her lip, spreading the papers out across the table and rubbing at her eyes, “Well yeah, but-”

 

“No, no. I’m not hearing any buts today. Make it happen.”

 

Amelia stares at her for a long moment, and Alana’s getting ready to repeat herself when she finally responds with a nod. “Right. I’ll get right on that. Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t understand why you’d need Connor Murphy, of all people to go and retrieve him-”

 

“Fine. Did you want to do it?”

 

“What? No, you can’t be serious. I’ve got better things to do. That problem here is that I don’t see just why  _ you  _ can’t-”

 

There’s a loud smacking noise that echos throughout the room, and this time, Alana Beck isn’t the one with a stinging sensation on her cheek.

 

Aria stands there, mouth agape, cupping at her cheek in shock before she grins, holding her hands up.

 

“If you think this is what’s going to help you out in this game of yours? Sure. Do what you want.”

 

Alana likes that.

 

She likes finally having her voice be heard, to have her ideas be acknowledged.

 

This is her game now, after all.

 

* * *

 

Zoe Murphy.

 

Alana’s far past asking why, but she assumes all the reasons and examples that were listed are bullshit, and that Aria doesn’t like her existing for whatever reason. She thinks she kind of gets it.

 

She’s a little frustrated with Evan and Connor getting out of there too, because that wasn’t what she had planned on happening, and when one thing goes wrong, she has to spend too much time trying to throw it all back together again so it can fit.

 

She doesn’t think she needs to waste time trying to make her part in all of this all fit together more comfortably. She’s sure that just putting her into a game will have whatever the desired effect is.

 

So, Alana befriends Zoe. It’s not too difficult, really. For someone who seems to have it all, she sure is lonely.

 

A trick she’s learned in befriending people, into trying to get them to let their guards down around you, is to just listen, nod along, and when you finally need to respond? Just repeat whatever they’d said previously, just worded differently, add in the occasional pity, and boom.

 

Oh, and the occasional out of school hangout, which is what she’s on her way to do when she sees Connor Murphy himself storm out of the house, dressed in something far more formal than his usual attire.

 

It takes her a second to figure just why he’s slouching so weirdly when she finally catches sight of Amelia, who’s got a hold of her ear and is blabbering on about some plan.

 

She kind of wants to abandon all of this just for the sake of getting back at Amelia, because she’s also done a great deal of damage to her plans.

 

But instead, she waits and hopes they don’t see her, and, when they’re finally out of sight, knocks on the door.

 

There’s a very faint, “Coming!” from the other side, accompanied by footsteps.

 

The door opens, and Alana’s amused to see that Zoe’s still in her pajamas.

 

“Sorry,” she sighs, rubbing at her eyes as she opens the door more so Alana can step inside. “Sleep has become so uncommon recently that I’m starting to think it’s just some illusion.”

 

“Oh, no, no, it’s okay!” she insists. “Did you want to talk about it?”

 

“Yeah, actually. I think that’d be nice,” she responds, before turning around and lazily gesturing for Alana to follow her upstairs.

 

Alana reaches into the bag she brought with her, frowning when she doesn’t immediately grab onto the injection she’d put in there. There’s no harm in pausing, she knows the way to Zoe’s room, so she takes a moment to dig through her bag. When she finally gets a hold of it, she looks up.

 

Her biggest mistake is not looking up to make sure Zoe isn’t looking at her when she tries to move the needle behind her back, or to the side, because when she looks up with the needle in her grasp, Zoe’s staring right at her with wide eyes.

 

And then she’s being shoved down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even BEGIN to tell you how long i've been waiting to write that end bit. Oh my god.


	39. Chapter 39

Connor kissed him.

 

Evan stands there, unwilling to get himself to move because his brain is having to put forth too much energy into trying to process it. He's near certain that trying to move would only end in him falling onto the floor and maybe staying there until he became it.

 

Actually, becoming the floor doesn't seem like too much of a bad idea right now. I mean, what the fuck does the floor have to deal with? Being stepped on? He doesn't think the floor cares, because floors don't have emotions and feelings and their lives aren't nearly as complicated as his has become.

 

If he were the floor right now, he wouldn't be standing there, staring blankly ahead while his mind raced. Yet, he kind of feels like it's shutting down, too.

 

And then yes, he's sitting down on the floor, curling up pathetically and hugging his knees close to himself.

 

Of course this miniscule thing ends up being what fucking breaks him. He's so pathetic. Who even cries over being kissed??

 

He wouldn't say he hated it, but he certainly hadn't loved it, either. He's more so confused.

 

He doesn't want to think about that right now. He doesn't want to think about that. He just wants a friend. He's not ready for anything more than that. He can't do that.

 

Fuck, what's he thinking? Connor couldn't have had anything… like that, in mind. Evan was just being annoying because when is he not? And now his rambling and his stupid stupid self deprecating brain has gone and ruined their friendship because he couldn't shut up. He should've just stayed quiet.

 

Everything would be so much easier if he'd just stayed quiet.

 

Everything would be easier if he'd climbed a little higher, if he'd never gotten rid of his arm, if his brain had gotten the memo that it was supposed to make him _better_.

 

But he's too fucking stupid for that.

 

Evan's read plenty of articles about Jigsaw victims claiming that the games gave them a new perspective on life, that it was enough of a reason to better themselves.

 

It seems that Evan's not capable of being better. He's been restrained to rock bottom.

 

No, he _is_ rock bottom; a rock bottom that only becomes impossibly lower and lower because life's not fair. It's not fair.

 

His phone goes off, and he feels his heart speed up in a mixture of frustration and uselessness. Taking the phone from its place on the floor, he swipes the notification from his home screen before he can even give himself the opportunity to read what it was. Then, he promptly puts it back to vibrate only.

 

Evan's never liked any type of notification sound that devices make. It doesn't matter if it's the most soothing sound ever, or if, when he'd set it up, he'd chosen something he enjoys hearing, it doesn't matter. He just grows to hate that sound and dread hearing it with every fiber of his being.

 

He tosses the phone onto his bed, overshooting and causing it to hit against the headboard.

 

Whatever. He can live with a cracked phone.

 

He'd like to get back to breaking down, thank you very much.

 

His phone goes off again. And while, yes, he finds the vibrate only mode better for him, he still dreads hearing it.

 

The sound makes this panic rise up in him, which is completely fucking ridiculous-- what kind of pathetic loser gets scared over _that?_

 

But it's okay, he can deal with a little fear.

 

Especially since that's what seems to overwhelm him just enough for his brain to just. Shut it all down.

 

He thinks he can faintly hear his phone go of a couple more times, too, but he's not too sure about that. It doesn't sound all that convincing to him-- probably just his brain making up things to try and compensate for how pathetic and lonely he is.

 

But he knows better.

 

No one ever bothers to text him.

 

* * *

 

 

There's a hand on his shoulder, and someone's talking. Whatever's being said isn't being processed, going in one ear and then out the other. Slowly, it comes back to him, and then he’s suddenly wishing it could fade back out again because it’s too loud.

 

Too, too loud. The words are there, loud and clear, but he’s too focused on just how overwhelming it is until he’s standing up abruptly, paying no mind to how dizzy he gets and how his vision blacks out-- he knows his way around his own house, he’s not about to walk into any fucking walls. His vision comes back once he’s collapsed in front of the toilet, only throwing up water because he’s been.. Really bad at trying to take care of himself.

 

The hand from earlier has finally returned, and he’s embarrassed to admit even to himself that it took him this long to realize that it’s his mom.

 

Which, despite her literally living here, was his last guess as to who that was.

 

He’d kind of been hoping it was Connor..

 

He kind of thought that Connor was the only one who cared.

 

Connor’s been the only one around often enough because, even after experiencing something as traumatizing as a Jigsaw trap, his mom hasn’t put forth any effort into spending more time with him, into playing into the fantasy of him being safe and never having to worry about it again.

 

Evan knows that’s a selfish thought process. He knows that she’s got bills to pay and that she’s always mentioning budget cuts and her constant need to show that she’s part of the team. And he gets it. he does, but there's too much time that he spends alone with his thoughts, and he knows he has Connor in his life now, but he also knows better than to expect Connor to put everything at a halt at the drop of a hat for his sake.

 

He knows better than to be _that_ selfish. He’s managed to be selfish enough as it is, hasn't he? He takes up too much space and consumes enough of his mother's time.

 

He kind of feels guilty for how much time Connor has put into their still new friendship, and he’s spent more time than he'd like to admit trying to figure out why the fuck Connor puts an effort into trying to talks to him, and he thinks he finally gets it now. He thinks he finally understands just why Connor even bothered talking with him in the first place. Why he still wastes so much of his time on him, and thinking about it doesn’t make him feel as guilty.

 

If anything, it makes him feel betrayed and just helps to affirm just how useless and irrelevant he is to everyone around him.

 

Connor’s only talked to him and forgiven him so easily because he feels guilty for what he's done. He feels guilty for being the very reason Evan lost the privilege of having two arms and he wants to make up for it somehow.

 

Although, he can’t say he’s 100% certain about it. He's not sure about it at all because Connor kissed him, and that has to mean something, doesn’t it? Unless..

 

Actually, no, he's not going to dive into that thought process, he doesn’t have the energy to spare to let his stupid brain go down a path of “but what if he still works for them??” not today.

 

He just, needs to stay in the moment right now, drag himself from his thoughts, because his mother's right by his side, trying to talk to him, and he has the nerve to let his thoughts drown out whatever she’s saying. For someone who’s always thinking about how lonely is, about never getting to spend any time with her, he’s really fucking terrible at putting forth any effort to try and appreciate the very little time he has with her.

 

Maybe that's why she works so much-- or, maybe it's more than just issues with money, maybe it's because she's sick of trying to take care of him. Sick of putting up with his godforsaken anxiety and his worries and his spacing out and just.. every single thing about him.

 

He can understand that. There are times when he feels like he's trying to get away from himself, too.

 

He wants to be mad at that thought process, wants to be mad at how much he believes it just might be true, but he can't. He can't be mad because he gets it. He gets that sometimes, It's easier to pretend that something isn't happening when you aren't constantly greeted with it.

 

Maybe it's easier for her to smile and pretend that her son isn't a sad, broken, pathetic mess when she's not around as often to have to face it. Maybe that’s what makes it easier for her to sit there and smile and shower him with forced encouragement when she barely has any idea who she's talking to anymore.

 

Understanding why and trying to accept it are two different things, though.

 

"Evan? Honey? Are you okay?"

 

He's not. He's not okay and hasn't been okay long enough for it to count for a very, very long time.

 

But his mom's a busy person who's just asking because it's required of her, because she probably wants to try and convince herself that she’s doing her part as a mom.

 

But they’re practically strangers to one another by now, and the only things she’s probably going to end up doing in her attempt to help him out would be to schedule extra therapy appointments, and then maybe ask the Kleinmans to get Jared to hang around him more, because he's a friendless and sad loser that no one wants to hang out with unless they absolutely have to.

 

He’s just someone that no one wants to even waste their time being in the presence of him when they aren’t benefiting from it somehow.

 

And he knows there’s no point now in trying to convince himself that it's all in his head. It’s not just some silly fear that he can get rid of by asking an adult to check for monsters under the bed,

 

Most of his fears have become a horrifying reality, and it only seems to get worse every day.

 

But his mom’s a very busy person and they both know she doesn’t have the time to spare to even begin unpacking all of his fears and trauma.

 

So, he gives a meek nod in her direction, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the roof while he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing.

 

He should brush his teeth.

 

So he gets up and does just that, trying to put his focus on that rather than the way his mom’s looking at him with such sadness that it makes his heart hurt.

 

She doesn’t just, go, but he’s thankful for her at least not speaking until he’s done.

 

"Are you sure?"

 

And he really wishes she would have asked anything _but_ that. He feels himself deflate, the pathetic emotional walls he’d built crumbling down. However, he doesn’t start crying until he finally, looks at her and see’s just how _sad_ she looks.

 

He’s barely given any time to process before she’s opening up her arms and hugging him close, and then he’s sobbing into her shoulder.

 

He doesn’t deserve this, He’s a murderer who doesn’t deserve any comfort. He doesn’t deserve a mom who stretches herself thin just because he can’t seem to stop getting into messes.

 

But that doesn’t stop him.

 

He’s not sure if he could somehow manage to stop crying even if he tried.

 

Evan does know that he’s not going to allow himself to get used to this.

 

Chances are that she came back to pick up something, or maybe to take a well deserved nap and here he is, being selfish and immature because he can’t hold it together over a stupid question.

 

She’s probably wishing that she’d put the burden of him on his dad, too.

 

He tries not to let that get to him right now. He just wants to focus on the hug he’s getting and how safe he feels and how she’s telling him that everything's going to be okay.

 

He’s just going to focus on that and not the voice in the back of his mind (that sounds an awful lot like Jared) laughing at him and telling him that he should go back to preschool, because he needs this.

 

And even when he’s cried all the tears he can manage, he doesn’t stop hugging her, not yet. He just needs this comfort a little longer.

 

It’s when he steps back that he notices that his shoulder’s wet, and that her face is red and eyes puffy. He swears he can feel his heart break.

 

She’s been crying too.

 

Maybe they both needed that more than he thought.

 

She wipes at her eyes, mouth opening to go and say something when her phone interrupts her.

 

Sighing, she holds up her hand at him and mouths for him to hold on while she answers.

 

“Yeah, right. Okay, i’ll be there in a bit..” she trails off, looking at him apologetically.

 

He tries for a smile, but even he can tell that it’s not sitting right on his face.

 

She hangs up, pocketing the phone and standing up on her toes to kiss his forehead.

 

“We’ll have a movie night sometime, okay? And then maybe we can invite Jared over for board games.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I’m really sorry honey, it’s just-”

 

“Budget cuts, bills, I know.”

 

Her face falls, “Evan-”

 

“No, I get it.”

 

He knows she wants to say more, but they don’t have the time for that.

 

She doesn’t have the time for him.

 

“I have to go, but I promise i’ll make it up to you, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I- shit, I have to go,” she’s already halfway out the door when she calls out, “Love you!”

 

He doesn’t bother responding.

 

Not that it matters. She wouldn’t have heard him.

 

He heads back into his room and grabs his phone, swiping away the seven unread messages from Connor, only getting a glimpse that of something about Zoe.

 

He can read them later.

 

What he doesn’t swipe away, however, is the email notification.

 

It’s full of attachments of things that he’s not going to bother with looking through.

 

He doesn’t have Connor’s email, but he’s not sure he’d forward the message to him even if he did.

 

At the very end, there’s a date, time, and location. Then the request that he respond as soon as he decides so she can throw something else together real quick.

 

Maybe he’d be a little more suspicious about that comment, considering how adament she’d been on him being a part of it, but he can’t be bothered to care because he had to go and use up all his caring-about-his-well-being energy on his episode.

 

_I'll meet you there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone else shaking? I am. Holyshitholyshitholyshit what comes next is something I was starting to think i'd never get around to actually writing


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alana Beck, I want to play a game."

Amelia Hayes is livid.

 

She’s angry at the world for housing such terrible people in the world, for allowing them to be so successful and leaving her to suffer and suffer and suffer.

 

She’s angry with herself for trusting Aria in the first place, for entertaining the idea that she wanted to actually do something to try and fix the world.

 

Amelia wholeheartedly supports the idea of teaching people to be less selfish, to stop and think about just how horrible of a person they’d become.

 

The original idea was perfect. It was something she could get behind, something that she could justify in her mind because they were only targeting the people who were truly doing something bad, people who were ruining the lives of everyone around them with no remorse.

 

Because sometimes, there’s just no other way to get it into someone’s head that they need to change.

 

It’s not a secret that there are people who have made their greatest improvements after nearly having it all taken away from them, after staring into the eyes of death itself.

 

There needs to be consequences to people’s actions, and the idea of Jigsaw was to give those consequences to those who had narrowly avoided it with a stack of cash slid under the table and a finger to their lips.

 

She should have known that partnering up with someone so angry, so emotional, would be a bad idea.

 

She should have dropped it all the moment she realized just how mad Aria was at the world. She’d never seen so much rage in a person before Aria.

 

She should have run away while she had the chance.

 

But she didn’t. Amelia had been too caught up in a perfect world that it blinded her.

 

She’s sure the change in Aria’s attitude was gradual, but for her, it all seemed to happen at once. Same goes for Alana.

 

Both were wonderful people when they’d first met. She doesn’t know what happened to them along the way.

 

That’s a lie. She does. But she didn’t when it was happening, She’d been too caught up in trying not to fucking die.

 

Amelia would be lying if she said she doesn’t miss them, that there’s a tiny voice in the back of her head that wants to forgive them both, to try and revive their long dead friendship. Her rage, however, is much louder than that voice.

 

They’d put her through hell and back. And now that she’s finally gotten the chance to step away from it all, to think through it, her rage seems to only grow a little more each year because.. Holy shit.

 

She’s not even sure she’s managing to recall all of it. She’s near-certain that there’s plenty that her mind’s decided was better to just, throw into a box and hide into the deepest depths of her mind.

 

She makes sure to remind herself every day to try and not lose her absolute shit whenever one of the boxes ends up spilling all over her mind, plaguing her thoughts.

 

Amelia lost her girlfriend to that same rage and greed, but she’s not Aria, she’s not going to let it consume her. She’s not going to lose herself in it. Now, she wants the whole Jigsaw ordeal to stop. They’re far past a stern talking to, she’d figured that much when Aria had decided to drug her the moment she decided she wanted to drag Alana into all of this.

 

They just.. Need a taste of their own medicine. She’s not going to kill them. She’s going to put them both through what they’ve subjected too many unsuspecting people to, people who never should have had to go through that anyway.

 

She still has no fucking clue what their deal is with Evan Hansen, and why they keep harassing him.

 

Okay. That’s a lie. She knows.

 

She knows that Aria was angry and bitter and lost when her best friend took her life, and she knows that Alana had been stuck in an insanely abusive relationship.

 

She knows Aria never learned to properly cope with all the trauma her parents caused in her childhood. Amelia only knows the gist of that one. She’s not a therapist, she couldn’t have helped her.

 

Amelia knows that she’s taken a liking to getting back at people who are ungrateful for the lives they’ve been given, who’ve never experienced anything near the trauma Aria had to endure, that seeing someone with a life that Aria would’ve killed for having the nerve to try and end it enrages her. She gets it, she can see where it’s coming from.

 

And she knows that Alana isn’t too bad either, that she got pulled into all of this against her will.

 

That doesn’t mean she’s going to forgive either of them for what they’ve made her endure, for the hell they’ve both put her through.

 

The two of them have drastically underestimated just what she’s capable of, and have completely disregarded just how smart she can be.

 

Which, as annoying as it is, is something that gives her the upper-hand in this all. It's how she somehow managed to get Zoe Murphy in on all of this.

 

She'd gone up to her one day, after having come to the conclusion that Evan and Connor were both very useless, and had simply warned her about Alana.

 

It wasn't a surprise that Zoe had been suspicious-- Amelia wouldn't have trusted some random stranger telling her to just, leave someone out of her life, but she'd begged her to, at the very least, keep an eye on her.

 

She'd given her her number, too, and is very grateful for that decision when she recieves a few texts followed by a call from a very panicked Zoe Murphy.

 

Perfect.

* * *

 

 

When Alana comes to, the first thing she notices is how dark it is.

 

The second is the raging headache she’s got going on, followed by how much her back aches.

 

She goes to move her arm, to try and soothe her head.

 

It doesn’t move.

 

It’s not that she can’t move it, it’s that something’s holding it back.

 

She goes to move her legs, and she can’t say that she’s surprised to find out that it doesn’t move, either.

 

Heart pounding in her chest, she manages to move her head, and she feels triumphance swelling inside of her chest.

 

That is, up until she hears a tiny click that she’s sure she never would have been able to catch if it were not for the stillness of the room. Same goes for the ticking noise that starts going off.

 

Then, she catches a glimpse of red light.

 

It takes her a second to figure out just what it is. She doesn’t know where her glasses have ended up, but she’s at least certain that they aren’t where they’re supposed to be.

 

A clock-- no.

 

A timer.

 

“Shit.”

 

Alana would have at least appreciated a warning for how suddenly all the lights flicker on, and she’s blinded by all of it.

 

While she’s trying to get her eyes to adjust to the sudden unforgiving brightness of the room, she hears a squeaking noise. They start actually doing their job just in time for her to see a puppet _riding_ a bicycle towards her, coming to a sudden stop.

 

_She wants out she wants out she wants out-_

 

Her heart may be loud, but if her heart is the increasingly louder beat of a drum, then the sudden laughter that erupts from the object is the screech of a mic.

 

It doesn’t do any more than that, and she's left alone with the constant beat of a timer, her thumping heart, and the ever growing fear pitting inside her chest.

 

Aria knows she fucked up, Aria’s mad.

 

This is her finally carrying out her end of the agreement.

 

Somehow, her breathing manages to increase even more when she hears footsteps. She shuts her eyes tightly, preparing for the worst.

 

This is it. She’s done for. This is how she dies.

 

She doesn’t want to die, not yet. There are so many things in her life that she hasn’t accomplished. At the very least, she wants to graduate. She wants that much.

 

But she doesn’t think that’s going to happen. Not now.

 

When the footsteps come to a halt, she chances peeking her eyes open just _slightly._

 

And she feels some hope surge up inside of her, because in front of her stands not Aria, but Amelia, who’s never been known to harm the innocent-- and she, of all people, should know that Alana Beck is not guilty.

 

“It’s so good to see you, oh my god,” she tells her, putting a little more effort forth into pulling away from whatever she’s stuck to, yelping as it pulls at her skin.

 

It reminds her of those sticky traps that people use for rats, in a way.

 

Only this is meant for people.

 

She’s slowly coming to the realization that this is oddly familiar when the thought process is interrupted by a short and sharp laugh. Amelia holds up her arm, exposing a watch that’s synced up to the timer on the wall.

 

Oh.

 

Aria’s behind this, then.

 

But..

 

The laugh doesn’t make sense.

 

The lack of sympathy in Amelia’s eyes doesn’t make sense.

 

She’s always been reluctant about games, has always tried to argue for the sake of whoever was unfortunate enough to end up inside of said game.

 

But when she looks at Amelia, she isn’t met with that hesitance. With that sadness that can burrow its way into any soul and bring out a guilt that wasn’t there beforehand.

 

Alana watches, heart sinking down impossibly further when she pulls a tape from her pocket.

 

A tape with her own name written on it.

 

However, instead of putting it in some tape player to listen to, she tosses it across the room, where she hears a chain of snapping going off. She knows it’s there, right in front of her, but being rid of her glasses has left her unable to figure out just what lies ahead of this wall she’s been stuck to.

 

There’s something more unnerving about hearing those words come from someone she’d thought she could trust, instead of the generic voice they use on all the tapes.

 

It’s so much worse having to see the lack of sympathy on Amelia’s face as she hints her in as to what kind of hell she’s going to endure.

 

“Alana Beck, I want to play a game,” she starts, voice controlled. “When I first met you, I thought you were the sweetest soul. You had so much passion and were so sure of your future. I don’t know if I feel guilty for dragging you into this, and I don’t know because the person I’m looking at now is nothing like the girl I met a year ago. You’re a murderer, Alana.”

 

Alana opens her mouth to speak, but Amelia’s not having any of it.

 

“I don’t care if it were for self-defense, I don’t care if it was because you wanted to live another day. I know you’re too smart to have not caught up on what you were doing being bad. I don’t want to hear those excuses because even as I was worked to the bone and beaten and bruised, I didn’t try to justify what I did-- what you both made me do.”

 

‘She nearly-”

 

“Killed you? Yeah. I know. You aren’t special,” she snorts, rolling her eyes, “Alana, right now, you’re in what I’ll be happy to admit is a revision of one of your old game plans I stole from you a while back.”

 

Alana frowns, staring at her with furrowed brows while she tries to figure out just what that means, until it all clicks into place.

 

 _That’s_ why it’s so familiar to her.

 

“Ecdysis,” she gasps, “You stole those. You stole my only escape-”

 

“I’m giving you an escape,” she cuts off, “I’m not you two, I play fair. You just have to earn it.”

 

When Alana doesn’t respond, she continues.

 

“Right now, you’re in the first of your five steps to freedom. This one? A maze, an experimental one, at that. You and Aria pull no punches when it comes to treating people like nothing more than test rats, so today, I decided we should switch it up a little bit. Your first task is simple: find your way out of here.”

 

“I can’t move-”

 

“Actually, you can. You just need to be willing to shed some skin-- isn’t that what Ecdysis was all about? Shedding skin? Starting anew?”

 

Alana never thought it was possible to feel more helpless than she did when she found out that Aria wouldn’t be letting her out of her sights that easily, when she found out that her life wasn’t going to turn out the way she’d always dreamed.

 

But she’s wrong about more things with each passing day.

 

“Live or die, make your choice.”

 

Alana doesn’t finally seem to gain full control of her voice back until Amelia’s already started walking away.

  
And she’s left alone, screaming and with a clock on the wall that reads **03:17:44**.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana Beck's Trials: A Mouse Trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you needed a reminder, this is a Saw AU and the games are still very gory and descriptive.

Alana closes her eyes, tries to calm down her racing heart because she’s seen enough games to know by that panicking does nothing but lead to disaster.

 

She tries to ignore the ticking that hasn’t once stopped as she breathes in.

 

One, two, three, four, five.

 

Hold.

 

One, two, three, four, five.

 

Out.

 

One, two, three, four, five.

 

She tries to take in her surroundings, thankful that her vision isn’t bad enough to not allow her to make out what’s on the ground below her.

 

Bandages and a gun.

 

She doesn’t have the time to spare to try and figure out what the gun’s for.

 

All she can think of is how thankful she is that the ground below her hasn’t been covered with anything sharp. Hopefully.

 

She’s not too sure. There’s a chance there could be a bunch of fiberglass below her, and while that isn’t as bad as having a spike run right through her foot, it’d still be painful.

 

Okay. Okay. That’s a different problem.

 

She has to take these one at a time. Right now, she needs to focus on getting away from whatever she’s..  _ glued  _ to right now.

 

She closes her eyes.

 

Alana just.. needs a moment to prepare herself for this.

 

She remembers once staring at herself in a mirror and, on more than one occasion, wishing that there were some way to rid herself of the scars that littered her skin.

 

Sometimes, she forgets that she lives in an unfortunate reality where every bad thing that she can think of can and will happen.

 

It seems she’ll be getting her wish.

 

Alana takes a deep breath, counts to three, and starts pulling.

 

At first, it’s no more than the sting you get when you’re pulling duct tape off your skin-- painful, yes, but she thinks she’d take that and only that any day over what she really gets, over the way that it escalates the more she pulls.

 

She might be screaming. She’s not too sure.

 

What she is sure of, however, is the burning pain that focuses on her entire backside.

 

She can feel it  _ peeling off,  _ being pulled and pulled and pulled and it’s taking up all of her energy to get through this, to not give up and accept that she might be left here to rot away.

 

Because she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want this death.

 

She still.. She has a future ahead of herself. It may not be what she’s always wanted, but it’s a future nonetheless.

 

Alana thinks she might here ripping, and she’s not sure if it’s the skin itself finally letting go, or the clothing she’d been wearing. Both, probably.

 

She hits the ground with a thump, her knees skidding against it.

 

And Alana is happy to announce that there is, in fact, nothing sharp set there for her to land on, just concrete, which is still painful but, she’ll take it.

 

The vision has somehow managed to become even more blurry, and she’s finding it harder to keep her eyes open than she’d like.

 

She can’t let this be the end. She can’t.

 

But she doesn’t get up immediately because.. Shit, she deserves a second.

 

It stings. It stings too much.

 

She moves her arm towards the bandages, the pain somehow managing to grow. She swears she blacks out for a moment.

 

She can’t.. This isn’t it.

 

She needs to get up.

 

Alana clenches her eyes shut, forcing herself to sit up. It doesn’t process that she

She’s turned to face the wall she’d just been attached to until she opens her eyes to be greeted with a thick layer of skin hanging off the wall, dripping with red liquid.

 

She barely has time to lean over herself before she’s emptying her stomach onto the ground.

 

It hurts.

 

_ It hurts it hurts it hurts and she needs it to.. _

 

“Stop it!” she screams at the empty room.

 

Alana’s too smart to not know by now that she’s not alone.

 

Someone’s watching.

 

There always is.

 

“Stop it!” she screams again. She might’ve paid a little more mind to the way her voice cracks if everything didn’t feel so fuzzy.

 

She has to get up. She has to get up and she doesn’t know if she has the energy to do it.

 

This isn’t a fair game. This can’t be right. Amelia has to know that. She has to get her out of here…

 

There’s a shrill sound that resembles the result of styrofoam being rubbed against itself. It hurts her head more than she believes it should.

 

She wants it to stop stop stop.

 

Even so, she looks around until her eyes land on the puppet from earlier, that’s gone from staring at where the patch of skin of the wall hangs to where she is now.

 

Its jaw drops and is replaced with laughter again.

 

In a fit of rage, she stands to hit it, to make it stop, to halt its taunts.

 

She’s managed to stand when her legs decide to give out.

 

The laughter continues.

 

“STOP IT!” she cries out.

 

It might be her imagination, but she’s sure the puppet’s sound only increases.

 

Alana musters up all the strength inside herself to knock it to the ground.

 

It hits the concrete and shatters. She freezes.

 

Glass. Broken glass. She can’t.. She can’t be near that.

 

She can’t do that again.

 

But when her eyes catch something that isn’t glass, she freezes, reaching out hesitantly to grab it from the pile of shards. It’s a plastic bottle. She pulls it close, blinking and blinking until her vision clears up  _ just enough  _ to see that the bottle is labelled as Advil.

 

Alana can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in her throat.

 

Advil.

 

Like that’s going to do anything.

 

Still, she opens the bottle, dumping god knows how many pills into her hand and swallowing popping them into her mouth, a couple at a time, swallowing them dry until there are no more.

 

There’s a feeling in her throat, almost as if they’re all right there, and it’s a little difficult to breathe, but that’s got to be her mind. Anyone with a partially functioning survival instinct would probably feel that, too.

 

She knows downing what she’s certain had to be at least half a bottle of Advil can’t be good, but she also knows that it’s not going to kill her.

 

Not right away, at least.

 

When she gets out of here, she’ll bother to worry about it, but right now? She needs to be able to deal with the pain that comes with having your skin torn from your back, and one or two pills aren’t going to do anything about it.

 

She needs to get up. Amelia threw a tape somewhere.

 

Alana heads in the direction, and she’s reminded of the snapping sound that had followed earlier a little too late, when she steps on something that isn’t solid ground and something’s pinching at her feet.

 

Mousetraps.

 

She can deal with that. She just.. Needs to make sure it doesn’t make contact with the parts of her that lack skin.

 

So that’s what she does, and when she trips and falls forward? She tries to remind herself that it could be worse.

 

That’s all she has to do, tell herself that this could all be so, so much worse.

 

There’s a part of her that greatly doubts that thought process, and she’s certain it’s not healthy to think about that.

 

But, again, that’s a problem to deal with later on, because all of these tiny problems aren’t going to matter if she ends up dead. So? If she needs to create things that she’ll need to work on later on just to make sure there’s a later on to get to? She doesn’t mind.

 

Not that she really has a choice, anyway.

 

Alana continues on, only stopping when she steps on something that doesn’t bite back, and instead hears a crack, and she’s not sure if it comes from whatever’s on the ground or her heart.

 

That can’t be the tape.

 

Pleasepleaseplease don’t let it be the tape.

 

She leans over to pick it up, regretting the decision to do so with her eyes so tightly shut when she grabs onto a mousetrap, but that isn’t enough to continue on with her very stupid decision.

 

When Alana grabs onto it, it cuts her finger.

 

She would have pulled back from it and gone running for the hills if she hadn’t figured out just what it was.

 

Her glasses.

 

And.. they’re broken.

 

That doesn’t stop her from putting them back on. She can learn to deal with a few cracks, even though anything keeping glasses from being able to actually do their job is annoying.

 

It takes a second, but she finally finds where the tape had landed.

 

Right to her side actually.

 

She sighs, twisting to the sound awkwardly and crying out.

 

It doesn’t stop her, though. She leans forward and grabs it.

 

Alana would rather not have to look back at the sticky wall again, so she just has to hope that the player is somewhere ahead.

 

She takes a moment to look ahead of her, and frowns when she realizes that the hall splits off into two separate directions. Which is..

 

Well, that’s never good.

 

But if that’s what she has to face next in order to be able to see the light of day again? She’ll go through with it.

 

Alana tries to speed up her walking, unable to keep herself from crying by the time the line of traps finally ends.

 

And then she’s left with a choice.

 

On her left, there’s a yellow sign that reads: “DO NOT PROCEED.”

 

If that’s supposed to be some kind of test to see if she’ll follow the rules? It’s too easy to pass.

 

She’s not dumb enough to break the rules, especially not the ones of a Jigsaw game.

 

Sure, she might consider taking it when she turns to look at the other side, seeing how much darker it is on the other side than it is with the hall that stretches on to the left side, but she doesn’t. She’s smarter than that.

 

She’s a smart person. Aria wouldn’t have made her help out with everything if she hadn’t agreed.

 

Alana freezes in her tracks.

 

Aria.

 

Why isn’t she the one in here? Her and Amelia both know that she’s the one who started this, that she’s the one who needs to be punished for it all.

 

There’s a new emotion bubbling inside of her: rage.

 

It’s not fair. Alana doesn’t deserve to be here. She’d only done what she needed to survive.

 

Aria should be the one in her position.

 

Alana continues on, only pausing to grab the handgun hanging from the wall and inspect it.

 

There’s a note next to where it had been placed, and she notices a knife, too.

 

She squints at the note.

 

_ One bullet, use it wisely. _

 

She doesn’t like that.

 

Because this is a trial, that has to mean there are plenty of other people had been dragged into this, and she can only begin to imagine what both of the weapons are for.

 

As she shoves the door ahead of her open, she realizes she’s got a new motive on her mind, a newer reason to keep fighting.

 

To get back at Aria for all the suffering she’s caused.

 

She knows it's an impossible hope, but a part of her wants to believe that she's somewhere in this building.

 

Alana looks down at the two weapons in her grip.

 

Maybe-- no, it's absolutely messed up to think about how wonderful it'd be to put a gun to Aria's head, but she thinks they're far past being nice.


	42. Chapter 42

Connor makes it back home in a sort of daze.

 

The only thing he can remember since walking outside of Evan’s is how stupid he is.

 

Who in their absolute right fucking mind goes and  _ kisses  _ someone just to get them to listen? He’s not even sure he feels anything romantic towards Evan.

 

It was just, a spur of the moment type of thing.

 

Jesus fucking christ, how did he even make it ut of Jigsaw without Aria blowing his brains out with how fucking poor he is at making good, functional person decisions?

 

He’d managed to run into just about every fucking stoplight the town has to offer too, which is also bullshit. But, while it definitely managed to piss him off, it wasn’t like he was in any sort of rush.

 

If anything, it probably saved his life, because after the first two very violent and sudden stops that had his body jerking forward, he had to remind himself that, just because he’s in the shittiest of shit moods, doesn’t mean he should go around driving recklessly.

 

Because even reckless drivers can find themselves waking up in a Jigsaw trap.

 

Once he’s got the car parked, he kind of sits there for a moment, staring blankly outside the window before resting his head against the horn, the continuous blaring sound resulting from it bothering him less than he thinks it should.

 

He eventually lifts his head from the wheel, if not for his own sanity, then Zoe’s, because he’s like, 90% sure she’s home.

 

Connor practically drags his feet to the door, his internal dread caused by his idiocy to not be able to function like an actual human being for longer than five fucking seconds coming to a halt because--

 

Because the door’s unlocked.

 

In fact, it’s not even closed all the way.

 

Now, listen, Connor doesn’t want to be the person that’s constantly jumping around, babbling on about everything bad that can happen-- because that’s Evan’s job-- but fuck that. He’s allowed to be pessimistic because his life is a literal shitshow where everything he that can possibly go wrong can and will happen.

 

So if his first thought to an open door even after him and Zoe had both undergone multiple long lectures from Cynthia about making sure the door was always shut and locked is that maybe perhapsively someone from Jigsaw got inside? He has every fucking right to think so.

 

He steps inside after placing his keys so they each individually fit between his fingers, taking careful steps and making sure to survey his surroundings, looking for anything that might sound out of place.

 

But he freezes when he hears sniffling.

 

He will absolutely fucking stab someone with his keys if that turns out to be some sick recording of crying just to lure him in, because that’s so fucking gross and horrifying.

 

He drops the keys in relief when he sees Zoe, curled up on the stairs, her shoulders shaking.

 

“Zoe?”

 

She jumps a little, looking up at him with a red face and puffy eyes, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.

 

“Alana..” she starts, voice cracking as she gestures to the stairs. He looks down at them, confused, because he’s sure as fuck that he didn’t see anyone on the stairs unless there’s some ghost or whatever.

 

His eyes land the trail of blood that’s running down them.

 

“Shit,” he hisses, rushing next to her.

 

Connor’s not sure she even wants his comfort, but right now he really  _ really  _ needs to make sure she’s okay.

 

She answers that question for him when she leans against him and starts sobbing into his shoulder.

 

He feels very fucking on edge right now.

 

Where the fuck is Alana?

 

But it seems that’s a question he’s going to have to hold back on for a little bit, even if it is important and could possibly be life or death for him and..

 

Fuck, Evan’s in this too.

 

He retrieves his phone from his back pocket, somewhat awkwardly with his right arm being wrapped around Zoe and his left trying to grab it from his right pocket.

 

He’s not sure if Evan’s even going to look at the text, and sure that’s still going to make him feel fucking miserable for being the reason he ignores him all because of his impulsive decision making, but he’ll feel even worse knowing he didn’t even  _ try  _ helping out in the first place.

 

Connor’s actually starting to think that maybe he’s overreacting a little, because maybe he is. Maybe Alana tripped down the stairs and Zoe had to call an ambulance.

 

He shakes his head lightly to himself, pulling up his conversation with Evan.

 

_ >Okay so I’m like.. 110% sure you blocked me _

_ >But I’m relying on the nonexistent chance that you haven’t and I need you to just listen to what I have to say real quick. _

_ >Just.. be careful? Please? _

_ >I might be overreacting but.. _

_ >I came home and Zoe was crying? And there's blood on the stairs and she said something about Alana?? _

_ >It could be a Jigsaw thing? _

_ >But if I was then I don't understand why they'd leave her as a witness??? _

_ >Again, could be overreacting _

_ >But please, be safe? _

 

He turns the ringer back on his phone after a solid thirty seconds of staring at the screen and not seeing a read receipt pop up.

 

As much as he'd love to stare at his phone and wait for Evan to respond like some dog waiting for its family to come back home, he doesn't have the time for that.

 

Because the world can't even give him one fucking day off.

 

"Hey, Zoe, are you okay?"

 

She shakes her head, and his heart clenches.

 

"Can I ask what-"

 

"I shoved her," Zoe interrupts, and he's thankful he'd decided to pocket his phone because there's no doubt in his mind that he would've dropped it in shock.

 

"You..  _ what?" _

 

"She.. there was this woman who came up to me? Told me to keep an eye on her? And I thought it was some prank or just, bullshit to get inside my head but when Alana came to visit, I turned around and she.. she.." Zoe bursts into a new fit of tears all over again. "Alana had this.. needle in her hand? And I.. maybe I overreacted? But I couldn't think of anything else to do so I.."

 

"You shoved her," he finishes with a nod. "What kind of needle?"

 

"I don't think it was anything for like, diabetes or whatever? Because she's Alana and-"

 

"She overshares literally every detail of her life?"

 

"Yeah, but stop interrupting me."

 

He holds his hands up in mock defense, and she takes a moment to glare at him before she continues.

 

“But I called her? The girl that warned me?”

 

“What was her name?”

 

“Connor, I swear to god-”

 

“What was her name?” he repeats, raising his voice. He regrets the decision the moment he sees Zoe flinch back.

 

They still have a long, long way to go.

 

“Sorry- I, sorry. It’s.. please? Do you remember it? This might be important.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

“..Amelia? But I didn’t even get a last name so..”

 

“I know her. I- fuck. Okay, sorry- just, continue with your story?”

 

Zoe looks at him with wide eyes, “You  _ know  _ her??”

 

“Yeah, snuck up on me and Evan in the hospital. It was, like, top tier stalker.”

 

She snorts, “Yeah, I nearly pepper-sprayed her.”

 

Connor frowns, “You carry pepper spray around with you now?”

 

“Yeah, mom and dad were really paranoid after you disappeared so they..” she trails off with a shrug.

 

“I’m happy they did.”

 

“What do you know about Amelia? Is she trustworthy? Did I do the right thing.”

 

Connor leans back uncomfortably against the stairs, running a hand through his hair and tugging a little. “I don’t know.”

 

“What?”

 

“I said I don’t know!” he snaps, then winces. “Sorry. Shit.”

 

“So you’re telling me there’s a fifty-fifty chance I just gave Alana to some psycho?”

 

“I’d say more around a 95% chance,” he kind of squints at the ceiling, as if that’s going to help him think. “She was saying something about getting revenge? I don’t know why she’d target Alana.”

 

“ _ Revenge?  _ Connor, why didn’t you tell me??”

 

“Oh, fuck off, you didn’t tell me she contacted you in the first place!”

 

“Well, don’t you think that sharing names with everyone to make sure we can stay safe, for a start!”

 

“I wasn’t sure if she was an actual fucking threat!”

 

“Didn’t you work with them? You were gone for a whole  _ year,  _ Connor, and you’re telling me you didn’t even catch names?”

 

“The only person I ever fucking met was Aria, and you’ve heard  _ loads  _ about her. Shit! It’s probably not even her real name!”

 

Zoe rolls her eyes, grabbing her phone and typing away like Connor’s not even there.

 

“I’m heading out,” he declares, but Zoe grabs onto his arm before he can stand up.

 

“Can you stop acting like a literal child for five seconds? I’m googling her name.”

 

“Yeah, sure, like some criminal mastermind is going to be dumb enough to have a profile on Facebook,” he snorts, “You know what? That sounds about right. Tell me when you find one who has her occupation set as ‘World Renowned Serial Killer.’”

 

Connor gets up again, this time avoiding Zoe’s arm.   
  


“Where are you going?”

 

“Grabbing something,” he responds simply.

 

“I swear to fucking God, now is  _ not  _ the time to be getting high-”

 

“Why is it that everyone always thinks I’m off getting high every time I’m out of their sight for longer than five seconds? I haven’t had any for a fucking year!”

 

She laughs, “They probably put you into a game because they’d figured you would have probably smoked the world’s supply within the next few years.”

 

Connor’s not going to admit to just how fucking funny he thinks that is.

 

Instead, he chooses not to respond until he’s grabbed his laptop from his room and is walking back out with it. When he sits back down next to her, she looks more than a little surprised.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Checking something,” he mumbles, voice barely audible to himself while he types in the passcode Amelia had given him, crossing his fingers while it loads and..

 

Success.

 

“You.. literally just logged into your own laptop? I didn’t know that called for celebration?”

 

“Amelia said she left something on here and I’m hoping that maybe she..” he pauses. Would it be a good idea to bring her deeper into this mess than she needs to be? Give her knowledge that probably won’t end up affecting her in any way, shape, or form?

 

He’s sure the answer to that is no.

 

But Connor’s always been pretty bad at making good decisions.

 

“Evan agreed to be in another game and I made him promise to look over the plans? But he hasn’t been responding to my texts and I think I remember her saying once that everything was right here? So maybe if I can find that, then I can find out if Alana’s there too..”

 

“Game?” she repeats.

 

“Yeah, game.”

 

“You told me Amelia was trying to get revenge.”

 

“Yeah, with a game?”

 

Zoe’s eyes are comically wide, “I thought you meant..”

 

“You mean that you  _ didn’t  _ figure that out when she literally fucking _ kidnapped Alana?” _

 

“I-” she holds up her finger, like she’s got something to back herself up-- which Connor’s all for hearing, by the way-- but instead of defending herself, she just taps at her chin, then sighs. “I am so dumb.”

 

“Maybe a little,” he responds, not a single doubt in his mind that he deserves the blow to his shoulder.

 

He starts laughing, and she joins in.

 

It feels.. nice. 

 

Sure, he’s in some serious shit, but being able to laugh and sort of take his mind off of things helps.

 

Once the laughter dies down, he scrolls through the files on his laptop until he comes across a folder named “Reborn.”

 

Which.. Is kind of sort of really fucking terrifying, but that sound Jigsaw-y enough.

 

He doesn’t know what he expects when he clicks on it, but it certainly isn’t the number of documents on there.

 

Curiosity gets the best of him, he clicks on the first one.

 

It’s about some guy named Stephen Wells.

 

Before he even has the chance to do it, Zoe’s already searched the name.

 

“Jigsaw victim.”

 

“Is he..?”

 

“Dead,” she sighs.

 

Connor clicks on the next file.

 

Then immediately closes it because it’s a name he knows well.

 

He’s not here to look back on the people whose deaths he’s played a part in.

 

So, he goes back to scrolling until he finally comes across one labelled, “Alana Beck Trails.”

 

“Shit,” he hears Zoe mutter next to him.

 

There’s a date on it.

 

Tonight.

 

He feels his heart stop.

 

But it’s okay. It’s okay because there’s a location, too.

 

Connor scrolls down through the pages of notes until he finally comes across the one that mentions Evan.

 

And he’s surprised his heart doesn’t stop altogether.

 

Evan  _ has  _ to be smart enough to have declined it. No one in their right mind would…

 

But he somehow doubts that, because Evan is.. Evan.

 

He pulls up Evan's contact and calls him.

 

It doesn't go through.

 

So he tries again.

 

And again.

 

And again again again until he's decided that this is just wasting his time.

 

"I need to go."

 

"Oh, nuh-uh," Zoe responds, shaking her head while she snaps a photo of the screen, scrolling back up to get a picture of the time and address, too.

 

"I need to check up on Evan and-"

 

"What? Do something stupid that just might get you killed?"

 

He doesn't respond.

 

"I'm going with you."

 

He swears he nearly dies from the shock that causes, "What? No."

 

"Yeah, not going to happen."

 

"You need to stay here where it's.."

 

"Safe?" She laughs, "Alone? No thanks. Some Jigsaw freak was literally in here like, forty minutes ago. I'm not staying to meet another one."

 

"I," he starts, realizing that he actually.. can't argue with that. "Fine."

 

"Then let's head out!" She exclaims with a triumphant grin, practically dragging him out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feel like I'm always lacking in the amount of dialogue I should be using in this fic as a whole? Or maybe that's just me?? Should I be using less of it, more of it, or is it fine as it is??


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana Beck's Trials: Family Reunion.

Alana walks into the dimly lit room, and she wants to turn back and walk away from this the moment the door swings shut. She looks back at it, and she observes just how tightly shut it is.

 

Is she going to be left here to suffocate?

 

She takes in a deep breath, and kind of hopes that she hadn’t just ended up wasting precious time as she speed walks towards the only corner of the room with a light.

 

It’s flickering in and out, not helping with her head, and it’s only doused the room in a yellow that reminds her of the school bathrooms, if she’s being honest-- which everyone had always deemed to be the lighting that only came straight from horror movies.

 

She wishes this were all just a movie, and that her cuts and bruises and pain was all fake, all just something that was supposed to be put on a screen for an audience and nothing more.

 

But who is she to wish of something so ridiculous when even getting out of here alive seems like it’s growing more and more impossible by the second?

 

There’s an old, box tv directly beneath the light. Alana once asked Aria why they went with box tv’s, of all things, and she’d explained that they were easier to get a hold of, to find discarded and that, while they had the money to afford a flatscreen if they wanted, there was something that couldn’t beat old things.

 

She doesn’t think she’s truly understood it up until now. This whole thing kind of gives her the vibe of some abandoned antique shop.

 

She puts the tape in the player that sits on top of the tv, presses play. Static fills the screen until finally, Amelia’s face pops up on the screen.

 

Alana doesn’t understand that, and it’s getting on her nerves more than she’d like to admit.

 

Why is Amelia so willing to put her face all over this? To willingly pin the blame on herself?

 

Is Aria behind this? Is she framing Amelia?

 

She has no idea. She doesn’t know and it’s going to eat her from the inside out.

 

“Congratulations on making it through your warm up!” comes Amelia’s voice from the speakers. She winces a little. It’s loud. She goes to turn it down, letting out a small “ow” when the button shocks her finger.

 

“Alana Beck, when you first started out, I truly believed you to be a good person. I also knew that it wasn’t all you, you were just.. Being used. Aria.. I don’t know what went wrong with her, but she’s not.. A healthy person to be around. At all.”

 

She feels a rush of hope swell up inside her. Maybe that was all, maybe Amelia had changed her mind last minute and decided that Alana doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve this because she did what she needed to make it out alive, and she’s not even sure she can go as far as trying to say that she made it in at least one piece. Alana’s not the villain. She’s the victim.

 

“But then, one day you changed. You lost yourself, Alana. But that’s okay. I’m here to make things better-- isn’t that what this is all about? Getting a second chance?” Something in Amelia’s expression shifts, and Alana’s stomach twists into knots when she realizes that it’s familiar.

 

It reminds her of Aria.

 

And that’s more than enough to make all of her hope go down the drain.

 

“I’ve noticed a similarity between the two of you-- I mean, I’ve noticed plenty, but the one most relevant to the game is the way you two always have to have the upper hand, you always like to know what’s going on. Makes you feel important,” she snorts, “Thinking ahead is good, but you two need to realize that you can’t predict the future.”

 

Amelia taps at her chin, humming to herself. “Actually? I take that back. I’m mildly convinced Aria sacrificed her firstborn to a witch. It’s hard to surprise her. But, you know? That’s okay. I’m fine with how long it took to finally get the upper hand. Slow and steady wins the race, after all.”

 

“Now, how exactly would you describe your relationship with Aria? Mine felt like drowning. Although, I have to say that, it didn’t start burning my lungs until recently when you were added into the mix. You’ve always looked like you were struggling to keep your head above the water.”

 

She dreads that. She doesn’t have the energy to swim. She’s tired and knowing that this is only the second trial makes her somehow feel pre-exhausted.

 

But what she can push herself through it.

 

As long as it ends up being water that she’ll be doused in, that is.

 

“Today, you’ll learn what it’s really like to feel like the world’s against you, to not have any odds in your favor,” she grins, “You can either keep walking to your right and let the game begin, or you can sit here and rot away alongside another.”

 

“ _ Another?”  _ she repeats out loud, eyes scanning the room.

 

It’s too dark for her to make out anything.

 

She can’t even see what’s supposed to be on the right side of the room.

 

“Live or die, make your choice.”

 

The video ends, and she's left with no more than a blue screen and the option to replay the tape.

 

That is, up until it shuts off, leaving her in complete darkness.

 

She doesn't exactly enjoy the idea of dying here, so she turns reluctantly, immediately worrying that maybe she'd turned in the wrong direction.

 

But she keeps walking, talking small steps forward.

 

The steps aren't small enough to keep her from falling forward into nothing when the ground isn't there anymore.

 

It's only when she hits the ground-- which isn't filled with water, just cement, that the entire room is blanketed in light. The light itself takes a second to process, because she's too focused on how painful the fall was.

 

Everything burns.

 

It burns it burns it burns and she wants it to stop because it feels oddly itchy.

 

This isn't fair. Nothing ever is. Not for Alana Beck.

 

She wishes pause buttons were a thing in life, because she needs a second. She needs to make it all stop. But, life doesn’t work that way, she’s wasted enough time as it is.

 

Alana waits for her vision to stop being so spotty, for the light to stop being so harsh on her eyes, and when it does, she takes in her surroundings.

 

It looks like she’s fallen in a place where there used to be a pool, except, there are pictures attached to the walls. She drags herself over to one-- a family photo, it looks like. She squints at it, and the first thing she takes note of is how all but two faces have been scribbled over in black sharpie.

 

It doesn’t happen immediately, but when she realizes that she recognizes one of the faces, she feels sick all over again.

 

Sarah.

 

Then, the other woman must be her mom. Maybe.

 

She grabs another photo.

 

It’s the aftermath of Sarah’s game-- and what’s left of her body. Although, she’s sure that the general public would have difficulties even figuring out that there was anything in the shape of a human body to begin with.

 

The next is a picture of her service.

 

This one doesn’t sit right with her. The families deserve to be left alone to grieve, there shouldn’t be anyone going in to spy on them.

 

It looks like even Alana doesn’t know all about what goes behind the scenes, but she can’t say she’s mad. The less she was shielded from, the better.

 

The final photo isn’t attached to the wall, but rather a string from the roof that hangs down all the way down. She’s not oblivious enough to not figure by now that the string is actually some wire.

 

She sighs, tugging it from the string.

 

It’s one of her setting up a game.

 

There’s a message on the back, too.

 

_ Admit to your wrongs or revert back to violence. _

 

Then, there are footsteps.

 

She looks up to meet eyes with a woman. A woman that resembles the one in the family picture. But she looks older, with red eyes and greasy hair, bags settled so deep beneath her eyes that there’s no doubt in her mind they’re permanent.

 

“You killed my daughter,” she says, voice shaking.

 

“I didn’t,” she tells her, and she feels a little disgusted with herself when she realizes she believes what she’s saying.

 

But, in her defense, she didn’t kill Sarah. She didn’t.

 

Sarah had the chance to get out of there, and she didn’t take it. She’s the one who shoved Alana into her way out.

 

She’s not going to think about how much that train of thought reminds her of Aria.

 

“You did,” she says, keeping her voice level, “You killed my daughter because you were too cowardly to admit what you were doing. You’d rather take the life of an innocent person and hide in the shadows to admit you did anything wrong in the first place.”

 

Security trap. It was a security trap.

 

“I didn’t kill her.”

 

“Oh, really?” she snorts, holding up.. Something. A device. Whatever. Give her a break. Her sight is still trashy. “You know, I’ll ket you go. You just have to admit that you did it, and I’ll let you go.”

 

Then she presses a button, and it clicks that the thing the woman’s holding is a recorder.

 

This one’s almost too easy, she thinks to herself.

 

“You’re right. I did it.”

 

“Did  _ what,  _ exactly?” she practically spits.

 

“I killed Sarah Wise.”

 

And then the woman starts laughing-- but Alana wouldn’t label it as something joyful, it’s mortifying, because she’s  _ crying,  _ too.

 

“I knew it! I knew it I..” she trails off, walking away. She hears something flick, and then she watches in dismay as water comes rushing into the no longer empty pool. The woman comes back, staring at her with wild eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been searching for you? Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

 

Alana hisses, vision blurring with tears all over again. She stares at the water that’s slowly rising in level, watching as she stains it with her blood.

 

“You’re guilty, Alana Beck, and I’ll make sure the world knows that you were behind all of it. Even if you make it out alive? There will be people looking for you,” she shakes her head, voice growing louder with each word. “Do you have any idea how many family’s you’ve ruined?”

 

Alana opens her mouth to speak, but she’s interrupted before she can even get so much as a single word out.

 

“You know what? I’m going to do you a small mercy,” she declares, before she’s walking away again.

 

She hears something hit the ground, the sound barely managing to overpower the sound of rushing water.

 

The water’s up to her waist now, and she looks around frantically.

 

She doesn’t think she has the energy to swim. She needs a way out.

 

And that’s when her eyes land on the gun.

 

_ One bullet. _

 

What if she needs it for later?

 

Still, she grabs it, observes the thing.

 

How would she even manage to get out if she shot her? Who would stop her?

 

There are footsteps again, and the woman peers down at her. She looks tired.

 

“Change of plans. I’m going to watch you drown,” she pauses, “You know, rumor has it that you watched her die? Do you enjoy that, you sick fuck? Do you enjoy torturing people and then killing them off? Huh?”

 

“I..” but she doesn’t continue, because she had watched Sarah die. She can still see it vividly now. She can still picture Sarah’s distress, she the blood splattering onto her glass box, with glass shoved deep within her back.

 

She can still hear her scream sometimes, too.

 

Alana can’t even begin to imagine how painful it must be to be crushed to death.

 

“You do!” she laughs.

 

Alana expects her to continue taunting her.

 

But that’s not what happens.

 

She watches as the woman takes a couple steps back. Then dives into the pool, lunging at Alana.

 

There’s barely any time to react before she’s being shoved underwater with the force of her body, head hitting the bottom.

 

Her ears are ringing, and she gasps out in pain, lungs burning as water comes rushing into her lungs.

 

It only makes her try to breathe more, to try and cough and get all the water out.

 

Everything’s getting blurrier and blurrier, and she starts the trash about.

 

She needs air she needs air she needs air.

 

There are bubbling floating above her, and she thinks that she can make out the woman’s face.

 

Alana’s never seen a smile so big.

 

In a last ditch attempt, with the world going dark and her energy going and going, and a fuzzy brain that’s most definitely short-circuiting, she grabs at the other’s leg and tries to pull it from the ground.

 

Suddenly, there’s no pressure holding her underwater, and she takes the opportunity to stand, gasping and coughing.

 

She’s so tired.

 

The woman comes back up, and Alana takes note of just how close to the wall she is.

 

Alana lunges at her, shoving her head against the concrete.

 

And then doing it again.

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

Faintly, she thinks of the way Sarah had slammed her against the wall, and then the glass box. Again and again.

 

She can’t help but wonder if she’d looked as dazed the person in front of her does right now.

 

Alana has to make it out of here. She has to.

 

She shoves her head under the water.

 

She looks too tired to fight, too.

 

But still, Alana waits until the last round of bubbles rises to the surface, and holds her a little longer. Just in case.

 

The water around her starts to drain out of the pool and she allows herself to collapse.

 

Her head is buzzing. She feels like she should react more to the fact that she just murdered someone with her bare hands.

 

Instead, she leans back and closes her eyes.

 

She just needs to rest her eyes.

 

Just for a moment.


End file.
